Chaos and Dirt
by Amia2
Summary: AU, L/A slash. After the Ring is destroyed, Legolas heads to Mirkwood with a few familiar characters. Better than it sounds, trust me. :D
1. The End, and The Beginning

***

**Author's Notes**: Okay, this will be AU, slash, violent and so on. Pretty much every warning you want to slap on me will work. However, this will not be: grammatically nonsensical, creatively spelled, Mary-Sue plagued, or plot-less. Yay! Anyways, review me and I'll review you. Fair enough? I think so! :) 

**Story Notes**: This'll be overlong. Don't let it scare you away, it's just for the nit-pickers. 

I'm doing my best to follow the book, (although it's AU), but you might find the odd, harmless detail from the movies in here. If that makes you sputter with rage, run along! :P

This story assumes that after the end of all of the WotR silliness, (silliness being the Scouring of the Shire, and Aragorn's Coronation) the Fellowship (minus poor, dear Boromir) collect in Minas Tirith. The twin sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir, (after playing their part), head back to Imladris via the Gap of Rohan. Once there, they meet up with Elrond, Arwen and Glorfindel, who then accompany the twins _back_ to Gondor for Arwen's wedding. 

Therefore, when our story starts, Aragorn's been King for a few months. They've been hectic ones, and the Fellowship has been extremely busy. As such, they're happy to share a breakfast in this first chapter. Aragorn and Arwen are to be wed in 8 months, after their year of engagement has passed and things have settled down for the new King. 

I don't have a Beta, so if you spot anything, please let me know and I'll fix it!

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the story. It's all Tolkien, baby. ;)

**Title**: Chaos and Dirt

**Author**: Amia

**Rating**: PG13

***

**Chapter One: The End, and The Beginning**

***

Two figures stood atop the highest tower in Minas Tirith. The taller raised a hand to his weather-beaten brow, sharp eyes locked on the distant mountain-wall of Mordor. The Mountains of Shadow stood out sharply against the pale pinks of the morning sky, ominous despite the lack of Dark Lord Sauron behind them. They had done it; it was finally over. Turning to face his companion, the Ranger known as Aragorn offered a rare grin. "Tis a beautiful morn, Legolas."

The slender Elf at his side nodded silently, placing his pale hand atop Aragorn's on the railing. At long last he found his voice, "And I am glad that it is spent with you, Estel, and in peace." Clutching at the hand gently, voice faltering, he faced his friend. "But it is to be the last, for a time."

All traces of the Ranger's grin faded at once, and he took Legolas' hand between his two. "Must you leave so soon?"

Legolas laughed softly at the child-like pout that adorned his best friend's face. "Yes, I must. I fear father will pull out his hair if I do not return, and on swift feet."

Aragorn frowned, "Then I will come with you. Sauron may have been destroyed, but it still is not safe for young, handsome Elf-Princes to be wandering alone…" He followed the Elf's gaze to the north, where, if one's eyes were keen enough, the trees of Mirkwood stood strong and tall, freed from shadow at last.

"I will be fine," said Legolas, "your place is here, Aragorn. I will return with time enough to toast your marriage."

"If not for this damned title, I would not let you go, my friend." Aragorn glared at the crown he'd discarded by the stone steps. "Promise me that you will be safe, or better yet! Take someone with you. I'm sure Gimli would not mind the journey. It would give him a chance to spite your father for Gloin's troubles!"

Legolas laughed merrily, "And he would love it if I gave him the chance. Alas, friend Gimli has his own agenda. Mayhap the Hobbits or Mithrandir will accompany me."

"Mayhap. We shall talk with them over breakfast, then. You must give my regards to your brothers, and King Thranduil."

"Of course," Legolas smiled, before taking his hand from Aragorn's dark, callused ones. With a slight bow, the Wood-Elf stepped back. "Now, with your pardon, I wish to bathe and mend my arrows before our meal. Until breakfast, Aragorn."

The Ranger nodded, "Until breakfast." Faint foot-falls, a flash of green-gold, and Aragorn stood alone in the morning sun. His mind strayed to fallen comrade Boromir, and the promise he had made the dying Gondorian. 

"_I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail._" 

Looking out over the city—his city, Aragorn placed his hand above his heart, and smiled fleetingly. "O Boromir. If you could but stand at my side…" The wind whispered in his ears, and Aragorn's smile grew. Though he was not in the physical, Boromir _did_ stand proud at his side, and he too was smiling.

***

"Good-morning, Hobbits!" King Elessar of Gondor descended into the hall with less-than-kingly grace. The long strides that had earned him the nickname of his Ranger-days, 'Strider', were a hard habit to break free of. Leaping over the remaining handful of steps, he took his place at the table's head and beamed at his friends. "Good-morning Gandalf! Master Gimli, and Legolas! How nice it is to eat in each other's company again, and for once eat well! I should hope you have room for second breakfast, Pippin?"

The grin on Peregrin Took seemed quite unproportional, given his small stature. "Aye, and elevenses at that! I've not seen a spread such as this since Lord Elrond's Homely House!"

"I hate to say it," began Meriadoc Brandybuck, tucking the silk tablecloth into his (for once) freshly-pressed collar, "But we'd best wait for Frodo and Sam. Have you seen them, Strid—King Elessar?"

"Merry, please… Strider will do, and if not; Aragorn. I feel not at all myself in the king's name. To answer your question, I roused Master Frodo and Samwise on my way here, they should be all but at my heels." Aragorn took a long drink from a handsome goblet, and turned to Gandalf. "You look young today, my friend!"

Gandalf's eyes twinkled beneath bushy brows. "And I feel it, in a way. A thousand cares have been lifted from us all, and if not for this rain I would be outside, dancing the Springle-ring!"

Aragorn chuckled, nodding to greet first Frodo Baggins, then Sam Gamgee as they passed to their places. "This rain will clear up, just as suddenly as it's begun. I hope you have not forgotten your promise, Gandalf?"

The old wizard leaned back in his chair, puffing contentedly at his pipe. A rather mysterious smile appeared beneath his long white beard. "No, dear Aragorn."

"Good. Now that we are whole, let us eat!"

The food was good and plentiful, and as such it was a long while before anyone made move to further their conversation. Finally, Legolas pushed himself back from the table. "I cannot possibly eat another bite. 'Twas wonderful, and thank you."

"The flimsy stomach of an Elf!" Gimli roared, a biscuit in one hand and a fork-speared sausage in the other. "I daresay you are watching your figure!"

Although a year back, Legolas would have been hard-pressed to keep his anger in check, he simply smiled now. "And I daresay, friend Gimli, that if you keep on as you are, you will soon become a Dwarf-cube."

Gimli glared over his high-piled plate, but said nothing further. Clearing his throat, the Elf continued. "My friends, today is to be my last in Minas Tirith. I shall return home to Greenwood, to visit my father and kin…"

"Greenwood?" whispered Pippin to Merry, behind his napkin.

"Mirkwood, Pip."

"…And I am reluctant to let him go," continued Aragorn. "It is safer now, but not wholly so quite yet. I would escort our fair prince myself, if not for my duties here… Would any of you volunteer?"

"To Mirkwood?" Sam looked up at Legolas, "It would take a year, and we have been travelling long already!"

"Not years, Sam, but two months on swiftest feet. I do not need an escort, but to ease Aragorn's mind. I do not wish to put any of you to further hassles, for it has been a wearying journey, even for tough Hobbit-feet. I shall leave at noon, upon my borrowed steed." Legolas replied, feeling as though the matter was settled.

"I will travel with you," came a voice.

All eyes turned in wonder to its source. "My dear Frodo… What an odd little Hobbit you are! Volunteering yourself for such long journeys," Gandalf shook his head. It did not seem so long ago when during the Council of Elrond, young Frodo had piped up, "_I will take it! I will take the Ring to Mordor_." 

"I wish to see Mirkwood," Frodo explained, "I have heard many tales of it from dear Uncle Bilbo, and I wish to follow his path… Beorn's Carrock, the Old Forest Road, not to mention the Enchanted River and Thranduil's halls themselves. I should like to explore more of it than the dungeons, however."

Legolas laughed softly, "Indeed you shall."

Sam frowned, as he was not entirely keen on the idea of rushing off on another adventure. He too, however, had heard Bilbo's tales, and knew that he would regret passing up the chance to explore the forest. "In that case, I will come as well," said Sam, "If you will have me!"

"Of course, dear Sam!" Legolas smiled broadly. 

"Do they have mushrooms in Mirkwood, Legolas?" asked Merry intently, before drinking deeply from his cup. If there was one thing Hobbits loved, it was mushrooms.

"Indeed we do, Merry!" said Legolas, "Larger mushrooms than I've seen anywhere in Middle-Earth."

"We're coming," Pippin exclaimed at once, as Merry nodded emphatically in agreement. "When do we leave?"

Legolas paused to think, before beginning slowly, "I had planned on leaving at once, but I should leave you time to prepare yourselves. How soon can you be ready to travel?"

"We must stay the night," Gandalf said, "and then tomorrow night as well. I suggest we leave in two days time, at the first stirrings of dawn."

"We, Mithrandir?" Legolas repeated, arching a dark eyebrow.

"We. I will join you on your journey, Legolas. It has been many years since I have spoken with your father, and I have much news and many questions for him," Gandalf replied, blowing colourful smoke rings down the table.

Aragorn rose, a broad smile on his handsome features. "It is settled, then! You should be thankful for the delay, Legolas, for tonight should be memorable indeed!"

***

That night, fireworks reminiscent of Bilbo's 111th birthday party lit Minas Tirith in flashes of red, gold and green. Dragons soared high overhead, only to come sweeping down over the bustling courtyard drawing 'ooh's and 'ahh's of approval from the Gondorians. "And this!" Gandalf beamed down at the littlest of his crew, and ruffled Pippin's hair fondly. "For Peregrin, Fool of a Took!"

At his words, there sounded a terrible screech as the firework raced into the dark sky. As the little ball of light hit its peak, it erupted into a giant, glittering blue mushroom. Pippin was beside himself with delight, and all Hobbits present clapped madly.

A little ways away, Aragorn and Legolas lounged on a grassy knoll, arms clasped behind their heads. Both wore content smiles as they watched Gandalf's masterful show. Finally, in the wake of a particularly loud burst of colour, Aragorn turned to his friend. 

"I…" The King cursed himself for his blush, "I will miss you, nîn mellon."

Legolas rolled onto his side, dark brows raised at the sudden revelation. Aragorn, as a rule, was not one to announce his feelings, seemingly a Human trait. Seeing the sincerity in the Ranger's expression, he laughed softly and clapped a hand to his shoulder. "And I you, my friend." 

Aragorn nodded hastily, and returned his face to the sky. Tears had begun prickling at his eyes, and he desperately fought to hold them back. "_What is this? Legolas and I have been parted for years at a time, and at this briefest of aways, I weep? I am surely growing soft in my age…_" 

The predicament had not gone unnoticed. Legolas pushed himself up on the grass, and sat cross-legged at Aragorn's side. "What ails you, Estel?"

To his credit, the man managed to worsen his blush from an impressive red to an astounding burgundy. He wiped furiously at his eyes, and glanced sheepishly at the elf. "Nothing, Legolas. The lights hurt my eyes."

"The truth if you will," Legolas frowned, as another firework exploded without so much as a squint from honest King Elessar. "I will pry it from you if you do not give it willingly." The mischievous glint in his eyes earned a chuckle from Aragorn.

"Aye, I know it. It is nothing, worry not!"

With a playful battle-cry, Legolas pounced on his friend, straddling the Man's hips and pinning his powerful shoulders down. Grinning wickedly, he watched Aragorn's shock turn to annoyance at the long blond locks that now hung in his face. "Legolas," Aragorn scowled, puffing out a great breath to move the strands, "Get your filthy hair out of my face! I am a King now, you know."

"A lying king. I will remove my 'filthy' hair if you produce the truth. What troubles you so?" The Elf fluttered his hair about Aragorn's face for emphasis, laughing merrily at the frustrated growl the action earned him.

"I feared, quite foolishly," he added with certain sarcasm, "That I would miss my gentle Elf-Prince. Now it is clear," hooking his foot about Legolas' he flipped them over with a grunt, "That I will cherish the peace and quiet."

Legolas frowned up at Aragorn's triumphant smirk. "Peace and quiet are not in your nature, my friend. Chaos and dirt, I say!"

"Chaos and dirt?" 

"Chaos and dirt," Legolas replied primly.

Aragorn laughed heartily, "Dirt!" he exclaimed, taking a fistful of the stuff from the ground. "Like this?" He dumped it quite unceremoniously over the Elf's pale face. Legolas coughed and sputtered, grey eyes wide in his surprise. It was not long before the Elf countered with a clump of dead grass, and then the battle was truly on. 

***

The fireworks were long ended, quite unnoticed by the King of Gondor and the Prince of Mirkwood. Gandalf stood at the foot of their knoll, watching the playful antics of the pair he'd known all their lives. They did not seem the adults they claimed to be, but in fact the scruffy-haired boy and mischievous Elfling he remembered. 

"Boys will be boys," came a soft, feminine voice. 

Gandalf spun at once, not having heard her approach, and embraced the beautiful Elf. "Arwen," he beamed, holding her old at arm's length and looking her over. "I trust your journey was a safe one?"

"Of course, Mithrandir. With company such as this, it would be hard indeed to find trouble," over her delicate shoulder appeared her family; Lord Elrond, twins Elladan and Elrohir, and their closest family friend, Lord Glorfindel. 

"I should think quite the opposite," Gandalf chuckled, bracing arms with Elrond and then Glorfindel in greeting. "The Moon smiles upon our reunion, my old friend."

"Indeed," Elrond smiled broadly. He looked down at the still-wrestling friends, and shook his head. "A Ranger and a Wood-Elf, they claim, but their senses are greatly impaired! Here we stand at their feet, and they are too caught in friendly play to notice us. If we were Orcs!"

At the foul word, both Legolas and Aragorn froze and leapt up, yet not in time to see Elladan's quiet smile, "There is more at play here than friendliness, father."

"Arwen!" Aragorn exclaimed, leaping to gather her in an embrace. He tucked his face into her silky hair, breathing in her scent. "I have missed you so!"

Arwen kissed his cheek lightly, "I have spent many sleepless nights in worry for you, Estel. Thank Elbereth you are safe and alive!"

Aragorn proceeded to greet his foster-father, elated brothers and then Glorfindel in turn, teary-eyed in his joy. 

Legolas wiped what dirt he could from his face, and then grinned at his old friends. Dark-haired twins Elladan and Elrohir nearly crushed the slender Elf in a great hug, mussing his hair and pinching his cheeks. "Dear Legolas!" they cried in unison. 

"You have got dirt on your nose," said Elrohir.

"And your chin," said Elladan.

"Aye, and some on your cheek," Elrohir gave a mighty pinch, and Legolas yelped as his skin turned red. "It has been too long!"

Legolas scowled at the pair, a hand on his tender cheek. "Has it?"

"Yes," Arwen giggled, planting a small kiss on Legolas' dirty face.

"Indeed it has. But we must gather to feast, for I have prepared a great meal for this night! It would be greater still had I known you were to arrive so soon," Aragorn explained, taking Arwen by the arm and leading the way inside. "What a wonderful treat!"

***

"And then brave Mister Frodo took up his sword, and stabbed it right into that Troll's best toe!" Samwise Gamgee was not used to being the centre of attention, and indeed not in the company of such noble Elven lords and the king of Men. He was delighted that they took such an interest, for all around the table hung on his words. "For the Shire, says he! And me too. The Shire! I do hope to see it again, and soon."

"We will, Sam," Frodo smiled, seeking out his gardener's hand beneath the table to give it a squeeze. "But off to Mirkwood, firstaways."

At this, Lord Elrond of Imaldris raised his eyebrows. "To Mirkwood?"

Legolas wiped his mouth on a napkin, setting his wine goblet down northwest of his plate. He smiled politely at the half-Elf. "Greenwood if you will, my Lord."

Elrond chuckled. "And so it will be. Middle-earth is different today, but I do not mean her sights or sounds, but her very _feel_. Our journey from Rivendell would normally be perilous, and yet at all times I felt the warmth of the sun upon me, and a smile on my heart. Your father has been in touch, Legolas, and he says the shadow is lifting from _Eryn Lasgalen_… The Wood of Greenleaves, and he impatiently awaits the arrival of his little Greenleaf."

Legolas blushed doubly, first in delight that his father had renamed their home-forest after him, and then in embarrassment at Elrond's use of '_little Greenleaf_', which had, in centuries past, been Thranduil's pet name for his youngest son. 

"That is the stuff of a good forest-name," Gandalf smiled kindly.

Elrond nodded sagely, "And you are to return home, Legolas?"

"Yes, Lord Elrond. I was of the mind to return at once, and at Aragorn's suggestion and the hobbits' eagerness, it has become a tour of old Bilbo's adventures. I am not starving for company, but I would be honoured if you would join us," he said.

"Nay, but my thanks. I have matters to attend to," said Elrond, and then he said no more. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a look, and with a nudge from his younger, the eldest brother spoke up. 

"We would like to go," Elladan began, "If you would not mind us."

"Aye, if you do not mind," Elrohir nodded emphatically.

"Mind?" Legolas laughed merrily, "Of course not! Do you wish, really, to leave so soon upon arriving?"

"Aye," Elrohir grinned wolfishly. "Estel will not miss us all, with Arwen at his side… and under him, and sometimes on top—"

Arwen and Elrond gave the younger twin a resounding smack across the head, as Aragorn glared daggers at him from across the table. Elladan fought back a laugh in spite of himself, seeing the embarrassed fury in the king's eyes and the humiliation in Arwen's. Catching sight of Legolas, however, he sighed inwardly. The Wood-Elf had gone pale, a look of hurt in his grey eyes. 

"You must excuse this one," Elrond scowled, "He is unlearned in the ways of tact and civil conversation. A fault of my parenting, I suppose."

"I apologise," Elrohir said quietly, "I meant no offence."

Clearing his throat, Gandalf pointedly ignored Elrohir's comments. "We are to set out after two moons, so be ready! I fear I yearn now for a puff of my pipe, so I will away to the gardens. Another fine meal, Aragorn! Even my dear Hobbits are content."

Aragorn rose and bowed to the old wizard. "My thanks, old friend."

"I think I shall join him," Elrond decided, also rising from his seat. He turned to his lovely daughter, and offered his arm. Slipping her arm through his, Arwen followed her father out of the grand dining room and into the cool night. 

Cocking his head, Aragorn watched the pair leave. It had been ages since he had spent good time with his betrothed, and it was strange of her to leave him to sit in the cloud of Gandalf's pipe-weed. Shaking it off, he turned to the remainder of the party. "Well, I should like to read my book by the fire before sleep. Your pardon," he said, heading up the steps that led back into the main hall, "Good-night!"

"Good-night, Strider!" said the Hobbits.

"Good-night, Aragorn!" Gimli said gruffly, lounging in his chair and unbuttoning his breeches, which had become little too snug after such a fine meal.

"Good-night, Estel," said Legolas softly. Full-up and sleepy, it was not long before all of the Fellowship was nestled into plump feather beds.

***

Flopping onto the great bed with an audible sigh, Elrohir grinned at his brother. "Imagine, all the way to Mirkwood and back with Legolas! I shouldn't dare hope it, but was there not a sparkle in his eye for me when he welcomed us?"

Elladan raised a slender eyebrow, a splitting image of his father. "I saw no sparkle, Elrohir, but that which he holds for Estel. Do not hurt yourself so, brother. You know in your heart that Legolas sees you as only a close friend…" 

Elrohir frowned, tearing the blankets back from fluffy pillows. "Nay, Elladan. Estel lusts for him, of that much I am sure… Did you not see the way he attacked Legolas in the courtyard? It was disgusting, the filthy Human… All over my Legolas like a Dwarf on mithril…" 

The dark-haired Elf was attempting a look of disgust, but it came out as a pout, and Elladan put an arm around his little brother in sympathy. "Elrohir…"

"Nay, Elladan! If only Estel would quit pestering my dear prince, he would realize his feelings for me. I have seen it in his eyes, and felt it in his touch. If only I could taste it in his kiss—" Elrohir stopped and blushed, shying away from the amused smirk on Elladan's face. "Besides, Estel should have eyes only for Arwen."

"Aye, he should. Let us not speak of this now, Elrohir. I am tired, and I know you are as well. We have travelled long today, and have only two nights to recover. Sleep now, little brother." Smoothing his twin's hair, Elladan placed a kiss on Elrohir's brow and retreated to his own bed. 

It was long before Elrohir slept, as for hours he lay simply staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. Finally, with a sleepy puff of breath, he outed the half-melted candle at his bedside and fell asleep.

***

There were two doors to the king's chambers, one at the north, and one at the west, well hidden behind a tapestry. Unbeknownst to the sleeping man, both stood open... 

At north stood beautiful Arwen, the morning sun casting warm light on her delicate features. The sight of the sleeping Ranger drew a smile to her lips, and she stepped quietly forward to smooth the hair across his brow. Asleep, Aragorn did not look his years. All age and cares were lifted from his weather-beaten face, and he seemed no more than the little boy growing up in the safety of her father's Rivendell. Now, that little boy was her betrothed. 

The faintest of stirrings in the tapestry on her right caught her sharp blue eyes. Alarmed, she lifted the flowing skirt of her dress, and unsheathed the knife at her thigh. It had been a gift from Aragorn, who insisted one could never be too careful. Creeping forward slowly, she flung back the curtain just as an intruder stepped through the hole in the wall. 

Slashing wildly at the figure, she cried out to the sleeping king, who was much more useful with weapons than she. "Aragorn! Aragorn! Ai! Estel!"

***

"Aragorn! Aragorn! Ai! Estel!"

Elrond nearly stumbled from shock at the cry, unmistakeably his daughter's. It had been only chance that he was passing the king's chambers, and he wished he had not chosen that path. He had had long talks with Arwen, and longer still with Estel, yet it seemed to have done no good. At further passionate shouting from the lovers, he raced around the corner and burst into the room in a rage.

***

"STOP THIS—!"

Arwen and Aragorn turned to stare at Lord Elrond, whose command had been cut short by the shocking scene before him. His mouth hung agape, and he seemed to have forgotten what he had begun to say.

"Ada," Arwen rushed to him, tears in her eyes, "It was an accident!"

Elrond's eyes moved across the room and settled on a figure on the floor, clad in brown and green. Aragorn, in his sleeping clothes, was crouched anxiously at his side, pressing a sheet to what appeared to be a knife-wound.

"Elrond," Aragorn's voice was strained, "Please help me… Legolas is hurt!"

That was all that needed be said. Elrond dashed across the room, and knelt at the blond Wood-Elf's side. A deep gash marred his fair face, from the bottom of his left ear to the bridge of his nose. It was bleeding profusely, and came dangerously close to his tightly closed eye. Aragorn lifted the bloodstained sheet from the Prince's chest, revealing another slash: this one deeper still, and nearly as long as his chest was broad. 

"Elbereth," Elrond breathed, "What has happened?"

"Arwen happened," Aragorn could not successfully hide the anger in his voice. "She attacked Legolas without thought or cause."

Arwen's sobs doubled, "I thought he was an enemy! Sneaking behind the tapestry as he was, and I could not bear to see you hurt!" Elrond shook his head in amazement at the foolish act, gently applying pressure to Legolas' head wound. Arwen covered her mouth to muffle a wail of anguish.

Aragorn glared daggers at his betrothed. "It is a passage directly to my best guest-room! Why did you not look at him before you attacked? How you managed to hit dear Legolas twice is beyond me, for you must have had your eyes closed to not recognize him!"

"Quiet, both of you. Arwen, return to my room and fetch my medical supplies. Bring them back here, at once!" Arwen raced from the room at her father's request.

"I am fine, Lord Elrond. They are but scratches…" Legolas protested, startling the half-elf, who had not even known that Legolas was awake. Nevertheless, Elrond scoffed. Aragorn and Legolas were too much alike, in that aspect—never willing to admit when they needed help.

"They are not scratches, Legolas." He turned to his foster-son, whose face was grave. "Estel, help me with his tunic, it will be in the way. Do you have something to put under his head?"

"Of course," Aragorn nodded vigorously, leaping up to fetch the pillows from his bed. He gently lifted Legolas' head, and then settled it down again on the down-filled pillows. With Elrond's help, he divested Legolas of his tunic, and set it aside. The wound was not as bad as it could have been, and for that they were thankful. Clutching Legolas' pale hand, they settled down to wait for Arwen's return.

***

Elladan and Elrohir were heading down the hallway to wash up for breakfast, chatting cheerfully and examining the many fine paintings hung upon the walls. Suddenly, their little sister came around a corner at full sprint. 

"Arwen!"

"What has you so rushed?" asked Elladan.

"Legolas," she panted, "Hurt. Which is father's room?"

"WHAT!?" Elrohir bellowed, "Hurt? How? Who would dare!?"

"What room, Elrohir?" cried Arwen impatiently.

Elladan took the lead, "Follow me."

***

Elrond finished the last stitch on Legolas' face, and gently wiped the area clean with a mix of water and crushed Athelas. Sitting back to admire his work, he wiped his hands on a cloth. "There you are, son. Good as new!"

"Thank you, my lord," Legolas attempted a smile, but succeeded only in a lopsided one; the stitches pulled at his slightest grin. 

He moved to sit up, but Aragorn's hands on his shoulders held him down. "Rest now, my friend. I fear your trip to Mirkwood may be delayed."

Legolas sighed in frustration. Throughout the entire quest of the Ring, all of the Fellowship had pressed on with worse injuries, without so much as a complaint. Now in peace, he was treated like an invalid for a mere scratch? "I will not remain on the floor, Aragorn. Lord Elrond is skilled in his work, and I feel fine. Let me up."

Elrond chuckled to himself. Legolas was stubborn, but Aragorn was just as much. It would be a long argument before anything was settled, if anything indeed _was _settled. Rising from his spot on the floor, he ushered his children out of the room. "Come Elladan, Elrohir. The Hobbits will have your breakfasts if you do not join them quickly. Arwen, I would like a word with you."

Arwen nodded and followed him, rubbing her tear-swollen eyes. Elrohir's glare seemed to burn holes into her back, and Elladan slung an arm around his brother's shoulders, hoping to subdue the rage in his younger twin or at the very least, restrain him from attacking their sister. 

"Poor, dear Legolas," Elrohir sighed, and then they were gone. 

"Let me up, Aragorn!" Legolas demanded, straining against the powerful arms that pinned him to the ground. 

"Alright," Aragorn sighed, but as he took his hands from Legolas' shoulders, he replaced them immediately under the slight Elf. Almost laughing at the look of confusion on Legolas' face, he hefted the blond archer easily and carried him to the bed. "No Elven Prince should have to sleep on the floor," said Aragorn, pleased with the exasperated sigh Legolas gave him.

"I do not wish to sleep at all!"

"Shall I fetch the soft-hearted Sam? You could tell him, and perhaps he would care." Legolas scowled, but the king continued, "But I fear I do not. Rest, fair Prince. I will not leave your side until you do."

Aragorn fluffed the pillows beneath Legolas' head, and pulled the burgundy covers up to the Elf's chest. A smile touched his eyes, as the archer pouted like a small child beneath him. Leaning in, he placed a small kiss on Legolas' brow, and took a seat beneath the window. 

Legolas' face was one of shock, but it soon turned into a delighted smile. Risking a quick glance over at the man, he blushed deeply to find dancing, happy grey eyes locked directly on his own. 

****** 

Well folks, that was chapter one… Hopefully in the next chapter they'll all set out for Mirkwood. I get carried away sometimes, hehe. Please review me! I'll love you forever!

******


	2. Many Goodbyes

***

**Chapter Two: Many Good-byes**

***

            Dewdrops clung to the long grass, reflecting the orange glow of a distant sunrise.  Only the slightest of breezes whispered through the trees, and the horses were eager to get going.  It was a beautiful morning for a ride.  

            Standing before the band of travellers, King Elessar of Gondor looked over each in turn.  After the perilous journey of the Ring, it had become his nature to protect his friends from whatever dangers may come.  In peace times such as these, he knew it was probably unnecessary, but it would be done all the same.  

            Merry was fishing through his pack, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration.  When he plucked an apple from it's depths, a triumphant grin lit up his face.  Beside him, Pippin rubbed his eyes and yawned.  Starting at dawn, in his opinion, was starting too soon indeed!  Once he had several breakfasts in him, Aragorn knew, he would be as lively and troublesome as usual.

            Frodo stood at Gandalf's side, hands on his hips and an exasperated expression on his face.  Sam was rifling through the older Hobbit's pack, taking out anything heavier than a scrap of cloth.  His own pack sagged heavily from his shoulders.  

Speaking in hushed voices with Lord Elrond, Gandalf was leaning heavily against his staff, seeming much more a bent old man than a powerful wizard.  Appearances, quite obviously, were terribly deceiving.

            The intense grey gaze of the Ranger settled on Legolas.  In the week that had passed since the attack, the wounds Arwen had bestowed upon the fair Elf had all but disappeared.  Not disappeared, however, was the fierce animosity between Arwen and Elrohir.  It would pass, Elrond had suggested, in and only in time.  For his part, difficult though it had been, Aragorn had forgiven and forgotten.  He had a notion that it was quite impossible to stay angry with an Elf in tears.  

            Elladan and Elrohir flanked the Wood-Elf, who was absentmindedly stroking his horse's mane.  The beast was strong and proud, coat a shimmering gold in the morning light.  It had been freed from its saddle, for Legolas had no need of it.  Aragorn chuckled, remembering when as a young man, he had copied the Wood-Elf and foregone saddle himself.  He had not walked comfortably for a week.

            "Is there anything you have forgotten, my friends?"

            Elladan grinned, "Nay, Estel.  We know how to pack for a journey such as this, and have gone over our list thrice.  Little Samwise seems to have packed enough for the lot of us, the doughty little fellow!"

            "'Tis true," agreed Elrohir, smiling broadly at the blushing gardener.  "But worry not, Estel.  We would never dream of leaving on a trip without for instance, soap or spare leggings!"

            The twins laughed heartily at Aragorn's deep blush.  Terrible memories of riding bare-bottomed into glorious Lothlorien filled his mind, and he cleared his throat noisily.  "In that case, farewell!  Be safe, my friends!"

            At the King's side, Gimli looked up, his face alit with mirth.  "I should wonder if there is a tale behind that barb!  One I would not mind hearing, doubtless!"

            Securing his pack, Legolas laughed gaily.  "When I return, friend Gimli, you shall have your fill of tales and then some.  Dear Aragorn turns quite purple when embarrassed.  Fare well!"  With a wink to the dwarf, and a wicked grin for the King, he leapt lightly upon his eager steed. 

            With a multitude of hugs, goodbyes and well-wishes, the remainder mounted their horses and docile ponies.   Three Elves, four Hobbits and an Istari passed through the gate of Minas Tirith's extravagant palace and then were away.

***

            Their companions little more than a distant speck on the horizon, and the Lord of Imladris turned to head indoors, quiet Lord Glorfindel at his heels.  Linking her slender arm through his, Arwen made move to follow her father back through the sturdy doors.  When Elrond noticed that the King had made no move to leave, and indeed had not moved at all, he sighed heavily and grasped the much younger man's shoulder.

"Watching for them, Estel, will not speed their return but instead draw it out impossibly in your mind.  You insult them with your worries…  are they not competent?  Gandalf the White, the Ringbearer and his mighty kinsmen, the best archer in all of Arda, and _my _sons!"  Such stress was upon the latter that Aragorn could not help but laugh at his father's fierce pride.  

"Your _sons_," the Ranger grinned, "are the exact reason I worry.  I know them too well."

At this, Elrond paused but had to concede Aragorn's point.  "That is true.  I have never known such troublesome Elves in all my years!  Surely it is no fault of _mine,_" the half-Elf sniffed haughtily, and completely in jest, "It must be their relation to that wretch Galadriel!"

"Yes, it must," Aragorn nodded solemnly, and Glorfindel laughed in spite of himself.

Gimli, however, was not amused.  He sputtered in his rage, and shook his balled fists up at his taller company.  "Why…  Who!  Who do you think you are!  To dare—  Of all the nerve!  To dare speak of the Lady of the Wood so wickedly!  I ought to—"

Elrond raised an eyebrow, and fixed his gaze on Aragorn for explanation.  The King merely shrugged, "They bonded in Lothlorien.  He is quite attached to the Lady of the Galadhrim."

Elrond knelt then, so as to meet Gimli's eye directly, and spoke in tones one would use with an aggravated child.  "Calm yourself, Gimli Elf-friend.  I speak purely in jest, the Lady Galadriel is my second mother, and I love her dearly as well!"

Gimli glowered for a moment, but decided that he was entirely outnumbered and in improper company to protest further.  "If it is of the same Fair Lady of Lorien that we speak, then I will unsecret my plans:  I will return to the Golden Wood, for I greatly desire a chance to spend what time I may with the Lady before her departure for the west.  My time during the Journey of the Ring was cut too short for my liking, and wrought with much sorrow.  My thoughts were such as we left on Anduin for worser times yet, and I heard her voice in my head.  She bid me return when I would, and that there was always a place at the venerable tables of Lothlorien for this son of Glóin son of Gróin!"

All three Elves beamed down at the Dwarf.  Arwen bent to place a kiss on his brow, and the Dwarf nearly blushed beneath his beard.  "You are truly unique, Gimli Elf-friend.  It is my hope that someday all Dwarves will be such entitled, Elf-friends, and all old bickering and name-calling be long left behind."

Aragorn nodded earnestly, recalling too quickly the fierce animosity that Gimli had originally held for their Legolas, and Legolas' for the gruff Dwarf.  However, a question was on his mind that could not be swayed.  "Why did you not travel with Legolas' party, Master Dwarf?  They will pass through Lorien themselves, on their path up the Anduin…"

"Aye, that I know.  Yet, I wish to travel on foot, and pass through Edoras before making my path further northward.  It was our promise to Éomer that his horses Arod and Hasufel be returned when our need was no more, and Dwarves keep their promises!" the Dwarf turned his dark eyes toward the stables, where their faithful horses were housed.  "It would do my heart good to see him again, and bravest Éowyn as well."

"Ah," the Man smiled, "Dwarves are not horsemen.  I have lost count of the times you've told me as much, Gimli, but would you take an offered pony to speed your path?"

"It will take you many months to reach Lorien otherwise," Elrond added, and that put stop to all of Gimli's protests.

"It would be much appreciated, your highness," Gimli reluctantly agreed, with a deep bow that earned him a swat from 'his highness' himself.  "You will have to get used to the titles, my friend.  I have much nastier names in my stores, so consider yourself lucky!"

Aragorn grinned, "Of course, most noble Gimli, son of Glóin, son of Gróin, Elf-friend!"

Raucous laughter soon won over his scowl, and the Dwarf led his friends inside.

***

            "You have been quiet of late, my daughter…"

            Arwen raised a perfectly arched brow, doing a fine imitation of her father and presently, the only other person in her sleeping chambers.  "I have spent much of my time in thought, Ada.  There is no reason to worry over such silence."

            "Elrohir will forgive you, in time," Elrond suggested, wrongly interpreting his daughter's troubles.  "He loves you, and it is only because he adores Legolas so that he is so upset.  Twofold, in that case, for he is upset that the Prince was hurt, and also that Legolas feels not for Elrohir how Elrohir feels for him.  It breaks my heart to see him so forlorn, and yet I cannot do anything for him but offer an open ear."  

            Arwen curled up on the carved bench at her father's side, resting her silky-tressed head against his strong shoulder.  "I know, Ada.  Elladan has told me as much, and I feel sorry for Elrohir myself.  I know for some part how it feels to love someone unrequited."

            At this, Elrond leaned away so he could look his daughter in the eye.  "Do you?"

            "I do."

            "And whom, given your love, could not love you back?"

            "Estel, Ada.  I see it in his eyes.  He loves me, of course, but not as a _lover_.  I am his sister, a close friend, but no more.  I could easily love him further, but he not I.  His heart belongs to another, he has simply yet to realize it.  Elladan sees it also, as does Elrohir, though he will not admit it."  Arwen's blue eyes filled with tears, and she buried her face in her father's ruby-robed shoulder.  

Elrond stroked her back gently, mind reeling.  He had heard of no such 'other', and at present could not think of anyone whom it could possibly be.  It was true that Aragorn had not spent much time in Elrond's company of late, but when he had, his spare time was spent with Arwen, the twins, Legolas and Gimli or the Hobbits.   No secret lover.  Shaking his head, Elrond made to reassure his daughter.

"Then why does Estel put up all pretence of loving you in such a way, and so believably?  I think you are only insecure, Arwen, Estel adores you and has always done so…"

            Arwen laughed then, though it was choked with emotion, "Believe me or not, Adar, it is the truth and it will become clear in time."

            "Then will you not leave with me, with your people, for Valinor?  You said you bonded yourself to him, and now face a time of doubt.  I would not have you give up on Estel because of insecurities, when they likely stem only from his distraction and moodiness due to newfound duties as King…  But I would not have you stay with him in the first place.  You belong with your people, Arwen.  You are our Undómiel."  Elrond sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he often did.  When had things become so complex?

            "I suppose only time will tell.  Goodnight, Ada."  Arwen kissed her father on the cheek, and moved across the room to her bed.

            The half-Elf rose and moved to the door.  Looking upon Arwen's resting form, he snuffed out the candle mounted upon the wall.  "Goodnight, Arwen," Elrond sighed, longing for the far-gone days when his children's hearts yearned for only sweets and games and well-told tales.  Simpler times, they had been, and happier ones at that.  

***

            It had been nearly a week since the party had left for Mirkwood, and to Aragorn, it seemed an age.  As he dressed slowly for breakfast, a knock sounded upon his door.

            "Who goes there?"

            A muffled but instantly recognizable voice answered, "Arwen goes.  May I come in?"

            Grinning, Aragorn threw on the closest tunic at hand and strode across the airy chamber to the door.  "Of course," he said as he pulled the heavy door open, "Good morning!"

            "Good morning, Estel," Arwen smiled, thought it did not reach her clear blue eyes.  "I…  Do you have a moment to talk?  I hope I'm not intruding…"

            Aragorn sank to a seat upon his soft bed, and patted the mattress beside himself.  "Of course you are not, dear Arwen.  What can I help you with?"

            Arwen did not take her place at his side, but stepped inside and closed the door.  Trying to gather her thoughts, she finally found her tongue.  Aragorn had begun to look rather concerned.  "I…  I shall ride to Lorien with Gimli at noon."

            Of all things she could have said, this caught Aragorn off guard most of all.  He rose, and took her hands in his confusion.  "Why would you go?  You have only just arrived, and have spent so little time with me…  Have I done something to offend you?  It was not my intention, I swear to you!  I would rather fall upon my sword than hurt you, you know that…"

            The Elf slipped her pale hands from Aragorn's weather-worn ones, and wrung them together nervously.  She had scripted herself, plotted every word, but now that the time had come, she could not find the courage to say them.  "I know," she replied meekly.

            Aragorn's stormy eyes were beginning to glow with hurt, as he waited for something more.  Finally, he asked, "Why, Arwen?  We are to wed in six months time; there are endless preparations we need to oversee, and I…  I will be very lonely if you leave as well…"  A thought dawned on the Man, and he stared at his bare feet, fearing to look her in the eye.  "Do you not love me?"

            Placing a hand over her mouth to choke a sob, Arwen fled the room.  It was all Aragorn could do not to sob himself.  What had he done?

***

            "Adar?"  

            Knowing that only two remained in Minas Tirith who would call him such a name, and knowing also that only one owned a deep, male voice, Elrond did not have to look up from his book to know who addressed him.  "Yes, Estel?"

            The Man took the chair on Elrond's left, and swung his legs beneath like he had done as a child.  A sure sign that something was troubling him, Elrond knew, especially since the King was chewing on his bottom lip.  "Adar, I have just spoken with Arwen…"

            "Ah," said Elrond, and he set his book down.  "And what did she tell you?"

            "That she was leaving for Lorien with Gimli," Aragorn replied quizzically.

            Elrond's jaw dropped, but he quickly snapped it shut.  "Did she?  Hmm…" 

            "Did you not know of this?"

            "No, and I should certainly like to speak with her.  Do you know where she is?"  Elrond asked, downing the remainder of his wine in one gulp and rising from his seat.  Aragorn rose as well, looking quite like he could use some wine.  Many bottles thereof.

            "She left my room at a sprint, when I asked her if she did not love me."

***

            Humming an old song, whose words were long forgotten, Gimli bustled about his room in preparation for his trip.  A pack lay half-filled upon his bed, and a tray of picked over fruit and bread sat upon the table, forgotten.  A knock upon the open door startled him out of his reverie.  He turned to find the stunning daughter of Elrond Half-Elven in his doorway.

            "My lady," he said, bowing deeply, "To what do I owe this honour?"

            Arwen's smile was fleeting, and she wasted no time in getting to the point.  "I had wondered, Master Dwarf, if you were going to be lonely upon your travels?"

            Gimli seemed rather surprised at the question, and shook his head fervently as he tested the blade of his axe.  It could use a sharpening before departure.  "I am used to travelling alone, though I do not do it often.  Why do you ask, Lady Arwen?"

            Fidgeting slightly, Arwen replied, "I ask, for I wonder if you have room for one more?  I should like to accompany you to Lorien.  I, too, wish to spend what time I may with Galadriel my mother's mother."

            Gimli beamed, "It would be an honour!  An honour indeed!  You are more than welcome, my lady, but are you ready to leave today?"

            "Yes," Arwen replied with a relieved smile.  "I shall meet you at the gates at noon.  You have my thanks, Master Dwarf."

            "It will be my pleasure," Gimli insisted, and as the Elf left, he resumed his song and his packing, quite happily oblivious to all troubles of the heart.

***

            Sharp though his eyes and ears were, it was only when Arwen passed upon her horse some minutes before noon that Elrond found her.  He called to her, and she stopped, leaping lightly down to speak with her father face-to-face.  Elrond tried valiantly to push his frustrations aside, and kept a cool tongue as he asked, "Why?"

            Arwen blinked at the question.  "Why?"

            "Why do you flee so suddenly to Lothlorien?  Leaving Estel and I in the dark?"  Elrond frowned, noticing Aragorn crossing the courtyard toward them.  "This is not like you."

            Arwen smiled then, and kissed her father on the cheek.  "I seek the advice of my Grandmother," she replied, "and I miss her besides.  I will return in time for the wedding, do not fear.  I am simply not sure if I will be taking part in it."

            It was fated, perhaps, that Aragorn had caught this last, which was meant for Elrond alone.  He stopped in mid-step, and stared at his betrothed in disbelief.  "Arwen, what have I done?  I apologized for my behaviour concerning the… attack," he said, "and I cannot think of anything I may have done to anger you so!  Please, tell me…"

            Elrond continued for the gates, so as to give the couple some privacy.  Aragorn clutched Arwen's thin hand, and held it to his chest as she spoke.  "I go because I wish to speak with my Grandmother, Estel.  You have not angered me, and I love you very much—"

            Relief flooded Aragorn's handsome features, "You had me worried, for a moment…  But can you not visit Galadriel after we are wed?  There is much to do, and little time to do it…  Guests to invite, vows to prepare, gowns to fit…  It is hectic, and I would prefer something simple, but apparently Kings must be extravagant in everything they do."

            "It is not becoming of a King to interrupt," she chided gently.  "I love you very much, Estel, but as I told father, I am not sure if I will be taking part in your wedding."

            Aragorn caught her arm as she turned, "If you love me, why are you not sure?  If not for you, there would be no wedding…"

            Arwen smiled sadly then, and stroked the King's stubble-covered cheek lovingly.  "Gimli is waiting for me.  I must go."

            "Arwen," the frustration in the Ranger's voice was clear.  "Talk to me.  If you love me…  And I you, why—"

            "That is exactly it," the Elf interrupted, "And you me.  Spend good time in thought while I am gone, Estel.  See if you truly wish to marry your sister…  I will return in time for the ceremony, and will support whatever choice you make."

            "You are my betrothed!  Who else would I marry?"  Aragorn cried in frustration, flinging his hands into the air.  Arwen flinched, and climbed back upon her horse.

            "Follow your heart, and you will find him.  Farewell!"

            With that, she turned upon her horse and raced from the gates, Gimli trotting along at her side.  Arod and Hasufel took up the rear, following loyally without leash or command.  Elrond passed the stricken King while returning inside, but said nothing.  What to say?

***

_"Follow your heart, and you will find him."  _

Him.  Even as he held gaze with his lifelong betrothed, an Elf he thought defined love for him, Aragorn knew of whom she spoke.  It was suddenly crystal clear, and yet muddled and impossibly confusing at the same time.  

Legolas.  The Greenleaf.  The youngest Prince of Mirkwood.  The sharp-eyed, golden-haired archer.  Aragorn's oldest and dearest friend in all of Middle-earth...  True love?  It was not so unbelievable.  What was, however, was any hope of Legolas returning such feelings.  His knees giving way, the King of Gondor collapsed to the lush grass of his courtyard.  What now?

******  

Considering it's been half a million years since I last updated, I decided to make this the entirety of chapter two, instead of half.  My next chapter should deal with Legolas & Co.'s progress to Mirkwood, and I'm sorry if this chapter was too dull.  It may take me a while to work up to the action (and  A/L mush!), but I've got a master plan.  No worries.  Oh, and, thank you all SO much for reviewing me!  (Do it again!)  Hehe…  Okay, time for bed!  :D

******


	3. The Travelling Circus

***

**Chapter Three:  The Travelling Circus**

***

            The sun rose to its fullest upon their second day of travel, warming the tips of their ears despite the wintertime.  The party had travelled through sporadic conversation and scattered song, but now were more focused on the rumbling of their bellies.  

Gandalf, who lead the pack down the well-travelled path, came to a stop.  Shadowfax snorted in approval beneath him, as the wizard spoke.  "We shall rest here, and continue after a good meal.  It would not be wise to wear ourselves down with so many miles yet to go!"

Pippin gave a great cheer, nearly tumbling off his pony.  "Finally," said he, rubbing his saddle-sore bottom.  "What shall we have to eat?"

"We have stew and heavy bread, and cheese with apples.  It would be best to eat these now, for I do not think they will keep much longer," Elrohir suggested.

"Good," said Legolas, "I will fetch fire-wood."

"I will help!" Merry volunteered at once.  He hopped down from his pony and followed the Elf into the woods that bordered their path.  Though there was an abundance of trees, there was not much in the way of firewood.  The trees stood tall and strong, and had left no branches lying about for travellers.  Further from the path, the vegetation around the trees became denser and difficult for Merry to manage.

"Ah!"  said Legolas suddenly, stopping so short that the young Hobbit nearly piled into him, "What's this?"  He guided Merry over a particularly thorny shrub, and pointed at a clearing that had appeared before them.  It was not big, but definitely a campsite.  In its center was carved a fire-pit, and at the far side, a small pile of neatly chopped wood.

"A camp!" exclaimed Merry, "Do you think it's still occupied, Legolas?"

The Wood-Elf navigated the remaining bushes easily, and stepped into the clearing.  "It has not been empty long, at most a day and half, I should guess.  See how the wind has caught the ashes?  And tracks of coon—there have been scavengers.  What luck that he has left us firewood!   I did not wish to harm a tree for sake of a warm meal."

"Coon?"

"A thief of a beast.  There are many in my home-forest, but they are not a danger to aught but unguarded dinners," Legolas replied with a laugh, running a slender finger down the smooth bark of the topmost branch.  The wood was dry, kept so by the roof of many leaves sitting at great height above.

Merry made a mental note to keep an eye out for these 'coons', for to him, a stolen dinner was a heinous crime indeed!  Stumbling through the remainder of the bushes, the Hobbit crossed the grassy clearing to the golden-haired Elf's side.  The pair sorted through the carefully hewn wood, picking out the best dry logs to be found.  

Curiosity winning through, Merry paused to set his blue eyes upon his Elven companion's.  "What's your father like, Legolas?"

"My father?"  Legolas asked, taken quite by surprise.  "Why do you ask?"

"Well," Merry replied, taking a moment to choose his words, "I've heard tales from Old Bilbo that don't seem too kind, and Gimli swears up and down that—"

A delighted chuckle cut Merry short, "Has that gruff little Dwarf been putting ideas into your head, Master Hobbit?  Did he tell you that my father would chain you up in the deepest depths of our dungeons for no crime greater than treading his soil?"

Merry blushed, feeling foolish for taking Gimli's exaggerated recounting of Gloin's trials in Mirkwood as complete truth.  "Well… no, I…"  

Legolas grinned from ear to pointed ear, clapping the small traveller's shoulder.   He hefted his pile, and walked easily back the way they had come.  Pausing, and leaning so as to speak closer to Merry's ear, he continued impishly: "If so, he spoke the truth.  I trust you will make good use of what freedom you have left!"

After a moment of stunned silence, Merry began to laugh, and chased the nimble Wood-Elf back through the trees to their companions.

***

            "Ah!  They return!"  Samwise, quite proud to have noticed their returning companions before anyone else, pointed to the wood.  The horses were grazing nearby, and the company rested quietly upon a bed of deep grass.  It had not been long since the Bucklander had followed the Wood-Elf into the trees, and in fact it had been but moments since the pair had disappeared from sight.  "They sure must be hungry," said Sam thoughtfully, "Hear them rush!" 

Looking up from a petty—nevertheless heated—argument, Elladan and Elrohir cocked their heads simultaneously in confusion.  The others turned now to the wood, and were also surprised by this 'rush'.  There came a great thundering sound, as if someone of tremendous girth was racing through the thicket, leaving in his wake a path of snapped branches and trampled soil.  

            "That is no Elf," Elrohir said surely, drawing his bow and readying an arrow.  Beside him, Elladan did the same, and the Hobbits drew their swords in trepidation.  

            "Nor a Hobbit," said Frodo, eyeing the thick bush grimly.  "We too are a soft-footed people, if not so feather-light as the Elves."

            "Then," said Gandalf, quite calm, "Let him come and be revealed."

            At his words, the party relaxed somewhat.  Though his noise was great, there was surely only one approaching.  Their number was far greater!  Despite this confidence, no weapon wavered.  Finally, a creature burst at great speed from the wood.  He was dressed not unlike a peasant, in warm but ragged furs.  Dark hair clung to his face and neck in his sweat, and ice-pale eyes were wide and sunken from lack of sleep.

Not expecting the sudden drop of several feet at path's edge, he crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs.  "Mithrandir!  Mithrandir!"

            At the sheer sight of him, tumbling as he did, the twins relaxed their bowstrings and the Hobbits leaned upon their swords.  The man, and indeed he was a Man, rose to legs shaking with exhaustion and nearly wept in his joy at the sight of the White Wizard.  "Ai, Mithrandir!"

Gandalf strode forward and gripped the man's shoulders, and it seemed to the Hobbits that he was quite alarmed.  "Mithrandir is here.  Are you chased?"

            "Nay, I should hope not.  I rush not for fear of being caught.  I have a message, one of urgency that I should pass unto you by order of Radagast the Brown!"  All of this was spoken in one breath, and in the silence that followed the visitor found himself under five sets of scrutinous eyes.  He bowed to the Elves and Hobbits, panting and wiping the sweat from his forehead.  "My apologies.  Any friends of Mithrandir deserve much more courtesy than this.  I am Hannor, messenger to Radagast of Rhosgobel." 

            Gandalf, with a wave of his hand, cut off any like introductions from his crew.  Grasping his staff now as weapon instead of crutch, he led Hannor aside.  "What words does Radagast send, weary friend?  Why should he send you in his stead, and upon only foot?"

            Hannor's eyes turned hollow at these last words, "Hanniual my horse, he has fallen to a pack of most loathsome Wargs.  It was at only his sacrifice that I did escape with my life, not three nights past.  Radagast is not fit to come himself, and sends you this most urgent message."  The Wizard waited with bated breath, but Hannor spoke no more.  He pulled a scroll of parchment from beneath his cloak, and handed it to Gandalf with a bow.

            "Hannor," said Frodo, "come, and eat.  We have good food and water to spare, and any friend of Gandalf deserves courtesy himself!  Sit soft."

            The Man looked questioningly up at the Istari, awaiting a dismissal despite the fact that the Brown Wizard was his master and not the White.  With the slightest nod of his head, Gandalf turned to the shade beneath the trees and began to study the rushedly-penned note of Radagast.  Moving to collapse between Sam and Elladan, he smiled at the mixed party.  "Your kindness is an unexpected gift, but I know of Hobbit custom.  Fear not!  I will not lighten your portions."  

            Pippin rose to his impressive height, which was spurned by Ent-draught and not Hobbit-trait, and said something then which won a gasp from even distracted Gandalf.  "Nonsense," said he.  "We've plenty to spare.  You are welcome to it."

            Hannor took Pippin's hand in his own, "Most gracious Hobbit!  I know not your name, alas that I cannot thank you rightly!"

            "Peregrin Took," said Gandalf with a great deal of pride.  He had folded the scroll into a crevasse of his own robes.  "Pippin, more commonly.  At his left Elrohir and Elladan, sons of Elrond of Imladris, and to your left, Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins."

            "Sam, to my friends," the sandy-haired Hobbit added, passing Hannor a half-loaf of bread.  "We should have fire soon to warm our stew.  Your timing is good!"

            Hannor smiled gratefully, tearing apart the bread as though he had not seen loaf nor crumb in months.  He took offered water, cheese and was half-way through a crisp apple before Sam let out a cry.  "Ai!  That's them for sure."

            Legolas and Merry, joyous song heard long before they were seen, danced through the trees and out to the path.  They both bore heavy loads of lumber, but their spirits were not dampened by the burden; both wore broad grins.  It was indeed almost comical, the looks of sheer shock that appeared upon their faces as they caught sight of the unfamiliar, haggard messenger.

*** 

            "I would not leave, were it my choice.  Any chance to choose is now passed, and I must go.  I will take comfort in knowing that you are safe in each other's company," Gandalf addressed his friends from Shadowfax's strong back.  At his left, Hannor sat upon the horse lent to him by Legolas, looking far better with a full belly and renewed hope in his heart.  "Continue on our path with leisure.  I will find you when I am able.  Be on your guard, for my peace of mind if nothing else!  Farewell!"

            "Namárië, Mithrandir!" cried Legolas as the white-clad Wizard raced down the path, Radagast's messenger at his heels.  He turned to the others as they waved and cried well-wishes of their own, and said softly, "What luck.  Mithrandir has just come from great and perilous battle, and now goes to urgent trouble?  I hope it is resolved quickly, and with ease on his part.  What message could Radagast send to alarm him so?"

            "Nothing old Gandalf can't manage, I reckon," said Sam.

            "Sam is quite right," said Elladan, "I would not be surprised if we enter your father's halls, Legolas, and find him waiting for us."

            "Probably having a smoke, just to irritate your father," Elrohir grinned.  He had yet to come across anyone who despised pipe-weed with such passion as Thranduil.  No Elf, of course, was fond of it, but Thranduil insisted the Wizard suck on toffees, when he was so keen to make use of his pipe.  It had become custom that Gandalf bring a bottle of the finest wine he could manage upon every visit, in exchange for smoking (albeit only out-of-doors) in Thranduil's Realm.  Any lesser man would be locked up at the offence, doing little for the King's reputation among outsiders.  

            Legolas reluctantly smiled, "I suppose you are right.  There is very little that poses Gandalf threat…  Whose horse may I share?  I should hope Aragorn's is safe in Hannor's keeping…"

            Elrohir smiled, wrapping an arm around Legolas' shoulders.  "That horse was once one of Rivendell, and knows better than to take a rider with less than wholesome intentions.  Do you wish to ride Arlad with me?  He is strong, and you are slight in build…"

            Legolas laughed, and Elrohir felt as though his heart might burst at the beautiful sound.  "Slight, dear Elrohir?  You do not suggest that I am weak, surely?"

            Elrohir flushed, "Nay, nay!  Of course not, I—"

            "What he means is," began Pippin impishly, his eyes sparkling, "You are slight compared only to such mighty, robust Hobbits as Merry and I."

            Legolas raised a dark brow, as Merry copied Pippin's pose and puffed his chest out to it's fullest, flexing his war-born biceps with a grunt.  "That's right, Pip!"

            Frodo laughed, "I daresay your height has gone to your head, Pippin!  But," he began, knowing full well what havoc his next words would wreak, "who is sturdier?  Yourself or Merry?"

            Took and Brandybuck shared a look.  "Oi, I never thought of that…" admitted Pippin, and then almost immediately; "I am!"

            "You!?"  

Merry's oft-raspy voice was incredulous, and Frodo laughed at his success.  At his side, Sam shook his head, bemused, but pleased to all ends with the smile on his Master's face.  "You ought not tease them, Mister Frodo…  They'll argue for hours!"

            "If it spares us an eightieth refrain of the Entwives' song, I would be all the gladder," smirked Legolas, and he turned his gaze back to Elrohir.  "If you don't mind me, Elrohir, I will accept your offer.  You are slight of build as well."  

            The blond Elf grinned cheekily, and patted Elrohir's shoulder as he leapt easily onto Arlad the horse.  Elladan marvelled at his twin's pleased blush.  Even Aragorn did not turn so vivid a hue when embarrassed, and that was a sight in itself!  Mounting his own horse, and making sure nothing was left behind, the eldest son of Elrond took the lead.  Passing Elrohir and Legolas on Arlad, he fought back a giggle.  Elrohir rode behind the Wood-Elf, holding him around the waist tightly.  His cheek rested upon Legolas' shoulder, and an expression of pure bliss was on his handsome face.

            "We shall have to stop early tonight," decided Legolas, misunderstanding Elrohir's position, "I did not realize you were so tired, Elrohir."

            Elrohir smiled into the Elf's back.  He felt the warmth of Legolas' body seeping into his own, but it was nothing compared to the flames licking his heart.  Oblivious to the pointed, quizzical stares of the Hobbits, and the thinly veiled amusement of Elladan, he began to hum, and continued to do so until the sky turned pink and red, and the sun slipped behind the mountains.

***

            Days passed in high spirit, though unease remained when thoughts turned to Gandalf's flight.  The ruins of Osgiliath were truly a sight to behold.  Though the armies of darkness had been resolute in their destruction, they had not broken the spirit of the Gondorian people.  The Fortress of the Stars was partly rebuilt, very much still a shambles, and home to a most magnificent, gleaming white pole.  Towering above the city, it bore the country's standard, a sight that stirred every heart to surge of pride.  The people there were noble and good-spirited, and in their company, the travellers spent two nights.  

            They travelled through the Greywood with a new-met hunting party, who came from a small village bordering Osgiliath.  Once parted from them, the company had had continued into North Ithilien in the days that followed.  Now, they stood merely a half-day from Cair Andros, and their return over the Anduin.  Their pace was not a strenuous one, and it was an indescribable pleasure in its stark contrast to their most recent journey.  They stopped to rest for the night at the edge of a small, murky-watered pond.

            Fire crackling in their midst, blankets were unfurled and spare clothes wadded up for use as pillows.  The night was not unbearably cold, but they laid as close to the fire as was safe, and bid one another good-night.  

            Gazing up at the stars, Legolas stretched gracefully within the fire's red glow, relishing the feel of soft grass beneath his bare feet.  "I shall take first watch."

            "Wake me in twice two hours, mellonamin," said Elladan, "I am not in need of much sleep this night."

            "I will keep a watch, as well," Elrohir offered, carefully re-braiding the dark hair at his temples.  Legolas shook his head, and strode to the edge of their camp.

            "You must rest, Elrohir.  I feared you would fall from our horse today, as you nearly slept against my shoulder.  Tomorrow you shall keep watch."  Not noticing the blush on Elrohir's features, the Prince of Mirkwood leapt into the low branches of a great tree before him, and scaled it with an ease likened to that of men running down-hill.  The Hobbits marvelled as the Elf's golden head reappeared near the ancient tree's topmost branches, his pale and unsoiled feet swinging beneath him.  "Quel kaima!"  He said, and Frodo smiled in limited understanding, "Sleep well!"

***

            The deep of night had come once more.  What remained of their fire smouldered and collapsed upon itself, and only the light snores of his companions could be heard.  With a frustrated sigh, Frodo disentangled himself from sleeping Sam, and walked stealthily across the camp, taking great care not to wake the others.  He wandered for some time down the path, and then back again the way he'd come, but to no avail.  Sleep would not come to him this night.  Defeated, he slumped against the broad trunk of a tree, and began to pick bits of debris from the hair upon his feet.  It was not until Elladan dropped from the tree's belly to his side did Frodo notice that he was not alone.  "What troubles you, Master Hobbit?"

            The Hobbit shrugged lightly, "I am not troubled, yet I cannot sleep."

            Elladan sat upon the grass, crossing his impossibly long legs.  "That is good news for me!  It is a gift, a quiet watch, but nevertheless I crave excitement.  Will you keep me company?"

            Frodo chuckled, and clasped his hands behind his head. "I will."

            Long did they sit in silence, but at last Frodo spoke.  His eyes were trained on Elrohir, who in his sleep had managed to drape himself over the slight form of soundly-sleeping Legolas.  The Wood-Elf, grey eyes vacant, did not realize the source of the warmth on his chest and sensed no danger, and thus allowed the contented Elrohir to remain.  Anyone unknowing would have thought them lovers.

            Leaning toward Elladan, the Ringbearer spoke in hushed tones.  "Your brother seems rather fond of our Legolas..."

            Elladan nodded his agreement.  "He is.  He has always been, and it has been long since I have been able to pass it off as mere infatuation.  I fear it may cause him deadly hurt, in the end.  It seems clear to me that Legolas would not return such feelings, if he knew of them."

            Seeing the worry Elladan's eyes held for his beloved twin, Frodo patted the Elf's arm gently.  "Elrohir is strong.  Though he is hurting for the present, I hold no doubt that he will find a lover in time.  Likely soon, for an Elf such as he should be highly sought after indeed!  I have known you both for only a short time, and already you are dear friends to me."  Large blue eyes settled on Legolas, "and Legolas is dear to me as well.  We have lost much in this war, but have gained much as well.  I am an only child, and yet I feel as though I now have many brothers."

            Elladan's smiling face glowed in the darkness.  "Truly, it is an honour to be called your friend, Frodo Baggins.  I understand now Aragorn's unfaltering devotion to your borders, during his time as Strider the Ranger.  I too would see your people and your culture unspoilt.  Hobbits are indeed magnificent creatures!  I regret that I have met so few…"

            Frodo chuckled, "You are most welcome to visit the Shire, after the wedding.  I suspect Sam, Merry, Pip and I should return rather soon afterward…"

            "Give us the grand tour, will you?"

            Frodo yawned hugely, and rubbed his eyes.  "The grandest.  Begging your pardon—" another yawn stopped his words, "But I think I will try to sleep, after all."

            Elladan nodded wordlessly, as the Hobbit crawled over the sleeping forms of Merry and Pippin, to snuggle back into Sam's embrace.  Light was slowly creeping back into the forest, and it would not be long before they would be on their way once more.

***

******

Hmmm…  This update only took me a couple days, instead of a couple months!  I deserve a pat on the back, or something.  This chapter, too, might be dull.  Action is imminent!  It just seems to me that this chapter would grow to be overlong if I continued from here.  We'll see…  Chapter four shouldn't be too far behind this one.  I've shaken off my writer's block, and honestly, seeing all those reviews helped a lot.  Thank you guys _so_ much!  I love you all for it.  :)

******


	4. Crossing Andros

***

**Chapter Four: Crossing Andros**

***

Time hung in the balance as the figure in gold and green stood upon the shores of the Anduin. Before him sat a great ship of rock, river-water breaking into a roaring foam about its base. Only the eyes of an Elf could see, far downstream, its end at south in massive cliffs of bare rock. Knee-deep in Anduin, scarcely noticing the frigid water rushing past lean calves, the Prince of Mirkwood shaded his eyes with a long hand. 

It had been of utmost importance, during the war. Amid the trees atop the island had stood innumerable defenders of Middle-earth's free. Amid the trees had most of these defenders fallen. Amon Dîn, easternmost of the beacon hills, stood just visible in the blazing midday sun. Cair Andros was recovered, and its guard replaced. The tang of defeat was still bitter on their tongues, and therefore their eyes were hawk-sharp and ever vigilant. The Elf had not gone unnoticed, but also not unexpected. The closest friends and brothers of King Elessar would be treated as such, and their passage across the long river would not be hindered.

"I sit upon your eastern shores, Anduin, and the Mountains of Shadow stretch cleavéd fingers of stone toward. But I would not leave, ominous though they remain. No threat now stands beyond… The trees of Ithilien speak readily to me, and I would spend all time left unused in their boughs with open ears. It pains me to leave this place, for I too clearly recall my time at youth in Greenwood the Great. O, how these trees of Ithilien sing! The tint is out of their air and buds burst anew upon their upraised arms. They are most joyous for it, most joyous. I would not leave, and yet I do…" 

Digging pale toes into the chill sand of water's edge, he laughed hoarsely at a fleeting hope in his mind. "_Mayhap_," thought he, "_the Shadow is lifted from Greenwood. Lord Elrond says it is so, and he is wise beyond any Wood-Elf! Mayhap I will find solace within the elms and the beech-woods once more._ " Swimmers darted about his ankles, and his last thought was spoken aloud. "It has been far too long…"

"What has?" The smooth voice of Elladan was near. Sinking to a crouch, the dark-haired Elf did not attempt to hide his amusement at the sight of Legolas' soft boots discarded upon the bare earth. When the choice was his to make, the Prince invariably elected to forego footwear. As an elfling, it had taken his father Thranduil a great stretch of Elven-rope and increasingly complex knots to keep the blond one booted. He trained his dark eyes upon looming Cair Andros. "Surely not too long since you have seen the Ship of Long Foam?" 

Legolas smiled, though if one saw only his eyes, they would never have known so. The archer let the water clear his feet of silt, and climbed the bank with ease to Elladan's side. "No… My thoughts were of Greenwood. I wonder if she is recovering as these woods of Gondor have." His thoughts strayed to Gondor's newfound King. "I wonder what stresses Aragorn is under. Too many, I should guess. He is unsure of himself still."

Elladan nodded, tossing the soft boots to his lifelong friend. "He has no reason to be. Such are the ways of Men. I have lived among them many years, and yet I still do not completely understand their ways. Nor those of females, for that matter."

Legolas laughed, smoothing his leggings down from mid-thigh, where they had been kept safe of the lapping Anduin. Pulling on his boots at only a pointed look from the Elf of Imladris, he tucked braids of blond behind his ears. "If Estel were not so complex, we would have tired of him long ago. I feel the same way for Gimli. Dwarf though he may be, stubborn, gruff and oft crude, he manages still to surprise me at each turn."

"I must admit, it is difficult to cling to old animosities with that one… He braids his beard nicely," Elladan pointed out, and grinned. "Has some knowledge of fine wine, knows not to run about out-of-doors bare-footed..."

Legolas rolled his grey eyes and sighed heavily. "You sound like Aragorn. He was terribly stubborn concerning the matter; my toes only tasted fresh air upon the Quest when we had chance to bathe. I felt as though my feet were prisoners, and I must admit… I was quite jealous of the Hobbits. No stubbornness was shown to them!"

"Alas that your feet are delicate and hairless," teased Elladan. "Though now that you have mentioned Hobbits, I am reminded: we are all ready to move on, if you and river Anduin have finished conversing?"

"It was rather a one-sided conversation," Legolas said wryly, and swiftly the two Elves made for the path and their waiting companions.

***

The passage of the Anduin posed them little hassle, and the party soon stood upon the western shores, in the land of Anorien. After a good, warm meal, they mounted ponies and horses and started down the ever-narrowing path. Elladan, whom Legolas was perched behind upon Nilithil the horse, rode at the lead in silence. The Hobbits flanked Elrohir, and chatted amicably with the Elf, sharing tales of the Shire and impossibly convoluted family trees. 

"It's going to rain tonight," said Sam, quite out of the blue. "Good that we're almost done for the day. We ought to find shelter—real shelter, mind—and stop for the night. I don't fancy spending such long days cold and wet."

Elrohir raised an eyebrow, and looked back over his shoulder to the warm-hearted little Hobbit. The gardener was staring up at the sky, one hand held aloft to catch what raindrops came. "Why do you say that, Samwise? The sky is blue as far as my eyes can see!"

"Oh, Sam knows his weather," Pippin interjected, "He's got a funny toe."

Elrohir's other eyebrow rose to match its mate. "A… _funny_ toe?"

Sam blushed into his chest, and snuck a glance at the Ringbearer. At Frodo's reassuring smile, the story came out. "Well, yes. When I was just a babe, my old Gaffer let me out to romp about the yard. And well, long story short, I got hold of his spade and nearly took my big toe off, by accident of course. Ever since, I've felt the weather in it. It's never wrong, but I always get laughed at for the claim…"

Elrohir chuckled, and instantly regretted it for the Hobbit's embarrassed look. "I am not laughing _at_ you, Master Hobbit. So far as I can tell, a toe like yours would prove quite useful!"

"Oh, it is," agreed Sam, earnestly. "It's right helpful when working in the garden. Silly to go to all the trouble of watering your plants, only to have it rain the next day…"

"Indeed," Elrohir nodded, though he had never been much of a gardener. "Estel—Aragorn, as I suppose you know him—"  
"Estel? Now that's a new one," said Merry, counting the Ranger's names off on his fingers, tongue hanging out in an effort to recall every moniker.

"Legolas calls Strider 'Estel', so you've heard it before," Pippin pointed out, "but I don't know why he does. I can't see how you get 'Estel' from 'Aragorn'…"

"Estel was the name Aragorn used as a child," Elrohir explained, "when he lived in Rivendell under my father's care. It is that name that comes most naturally to my tongue, and those of my family. Legolas, as well, for he is closer to us than many blood-relatives."

"Oh, we knew Legolas and Strider were close," laughed Sam, winking suggestively. Merry and Pippin howled, slapping their thighs and quite nearly toppling from their ponies. Sam beamed at the reception of the joke, having feared the innuendo was rather improper. Remembering his discussion with Elladan the night before, Frodo cringed inwardly at the pain that flashed in Elrohir's eyes. The Ringbearer shot the other Hobbits a glare, and in return won looks of confusion from Merry and Pippin. Sam, for his part, looked properly abashed. 

"Yes, they… They have known each other for many years," came Elrohir's meek reply after a pause, and the Elf shook his head before continuing hurriedly. "Anyway, Aragorn insists that his right thumb can sense bodies of water. Everyone thought he was quite mad at first, but he seems to find water when he needs it. Likely luck."

"He has more trouble finding water in which to bathe," Elladan's sing-song voice floated back, and the Hobbits burst into giggles once more, having been thinking along similar lines. Elrohir blushed deeply, hoping against all hope that Legolas had not heard the catch of his breath at the insinuations of Samwise. Frodo and his gardener began to lag behind slightly. It seemed they were caught in conversation concerning what uses Galadriel's soil should be put to, back in Hobbiton. They travelled for some time in silence, and, reinforcing Sam's suggestion, stormy clouds began to brew in the distance.

Elrohir tried to ignore the Hobbit's comments concerning the apparently amusing closeness of the Wood-Elf and Gondor's King, but his insecurities refused to let him do so. "So," he began casually, and quietly enough to avoid the ears of the other Elves, "What amuses you about the relationship of Legolas and Aragorn?"

"They are _so_ smitten," Merry replied, shrugging his shoulders. "'Tis entirely too cute." The Hobbit mistook the expression on Elrohir's face for one of disbelief, so he continued, "During the Quest, they were always together, even in battle. They would share watches and stay up all night talking, or run off to scout for hours on end… And they were constantly teasing each other… Flirting, you know?"

Pippin nodded, "Aye, it's just adorable. Brave Strider, turned to jelly at the faintest smile from that Elf! Thing was, I don't think they realized it themselves…"

"No, but we figured it out right quick! They were always making eyes at one another, cuddling up at night—" Merry began, fluttering his eyelashes and covering the back of his hand with exaggerated, noisy kisses.

"—For warmth, mind you, just warmth!" Pippin interrupted, and both Hobbits cackled.

Elrohir's heart had sunk into his shoes, but his brain worked frantically on possible explanations. Few came, and less were even remotely believable. "They are as close as brothers, I am sure, and I would take a place at Elladan's side to keep warm…"

The youngest Hobbits laughed and shook their curly heads. "That's all we thought at first, too. Isn't that right, Pip?"

Pippin nodded enthusiastically. "At first."

"What led you to change your minds?" Elrohir asked, plastering a smile on his face despite the hurt in his heart. "A kiss?"

"Oh, no," said Pippin, "Nothing like that."

"That would have settled a few bets, though," Merry grinned, remembering one in particular made with Gimli the Dwarf. 

Elrohir's fair face had soured. "He had better not have done as much, for he is betrothed to Arwen, my sister. Elbereth knows he does not deserve her, but her heart cannot be helped."

Merry and Pippin started at the icy tone in the Elf's voice, and Elrohir barked a command to his horse. He scarcely noticed the stares of his beloved and twin, and pointedly ignored their calls as he passed them. The sky turned grey and then black, and the rain began to fall heavily.

"_Smitten? Flirting? Surely the Hobbits see only Estel's perverse fascination with my Elf… Aragorn and Arwen are reunited since the Quest, and I am sure his need has been taken care of. He would not still turn to Legolas, surely, for release and empty passion… Legolas' smile still sparkles for me. I will speak with him tonight. I have waited so long already, and now I fear that I have waited too long… Yes, tonight." _

Insecure in his resolutions, yet unwilling to consider the alternatives, Elrohir continued to lead the party with a foul temper and searched with keen eyes for a suiting camp.

***

"What's the matter, Mister Frodo?" 

Taking the offered plate of breakfast from the portly Hobbit, Frodo cocked his head in silent question. Samwise stood before him, scuffing his toes about in the dirt with his chin glued to his chest. Reaching out with a slender arm (too slender, in Sam's opinion) he lifted the younger Hobbit's chin, until Sam timidly met his eyes. "Sam?"

"About before," Sam began, blinking back his tears, "You gave me an awful glare…"

"And I am sorry, Sam, but I do not know if it is my place to explain things. I might only suggest that you keep tales of Legolas and Aragorn's 'closeness' to yourself," Frodo said softly, "They upset Elrohir, you see…"

Sam's eyebrows shot up, "That Elf's got feelings for our Legolas, hasn't he?"

Frodo chuckled softly. All the Hobbits had adored the Elven member of the Fellowship, though he had been rather intimidating at first, and they adored him still. None of them knew when it had come about, but "Our Legolas" seemed to be their official pet name for the blond archer. "Yes, he does. Elladan told me last night, but keep it to yourself for now. Speaking of, where have the Elves got to?"

Sam looked over his shoulder, and found only Merry and Pippin. The pair were wrestling, limbs flailing, a hearty second breakfast their prize. Neither seemed to mind, or even notice the mud left behind from the previous night's storm. "I know Elladan went to tend the horses…"

"And the others?"

With a shrug, Sam called out to the battling cousins. "Oi! Mister Merry! Oi, Pip!" 

At the call, Brandybuck and Took paused and looked up, chests heaving in exertion, round faces glowing with mirth. Merry was clearly winning, as he was nearly kneeling atop the smaller Pippin. "Where have Legolas and Elrohir gone?" asked Frodo.

"Legolas went to bathe in the river… He's gone quite mad, if you ask me!"

Pippin grunted and strained, to no avail. He looked back up at what he could see of Merry's face, which was only the jut of his chin, and asked sceptically, "Bathing in the Anduin?" 

"Aye, that's what he said," Merry replied with a shrug. "But, as for Elrohir, I don't know. Maybe he went to bathe as well. The Anduin is nice and toasty this time o' the year!" 

"Nuts if he did," Pippin shook his head piteously, and with a sudden burst of energy, the fight was renewed and their questions forgotten.

***

It was only the Elf-light step and practiced stealth of the dark-haired watcher that kept his presence a secret, hidden at the path's edge. Not that he should have been hiding, in fact, quite the opposite. It was simply taking Elrohir a moment to search his entire being for every scrap of courage to be had. The sight of the semi-nude, bathing archer was not helping. Sarcasm dripping from his inner voice, he thought bemusedly to himself about the possibility of borrowing some of the courage his twin stored in great supply. "_Elladan was always the brave one… He would not condone this. I am not sure if I condone this. Alas that I am so cowardly! Here I stand in the shadows like a thief. It is now, or never…. Now or never, Elrohir…. Now!"_

"…Legolas?"

***

Smoothing his water-weighted hair with a slender hand, the Elf bent and scooped a frigid drink from the rushing river. The water was pure and refreshing, and the blond creature wore a broad smile, though he did not realize it. The sun was beaming down, not glaring but glowing upon his pale skin, and only then did his ears catch noise of his visitor. Noise came in the form of voice, and that voice spoke his name. 

"Legolas?"

Legolas spun gracefully within the lapping waves of Anduin. He smiled up at Elrohir, who had fallen into a crouch at the riverbank. The elder Elf seemed troubled. Offering a hand to his long-time friend, Legolas' smile broadened. "Elrohir! Have you come to bathe? There is plenty of room, mellonamin."

Elrohir raised an eyebrow, bemused, but made no move toward the crisp chill of Anduin. He furthered his crouch into a seat upon the grass, and patted the ground at his side. Patiently, he out-waited Legolas' quizzical stare, and watched the archer fight the current back to shore. As Legolas neared the rock and sand of shore, the water level decreased dramatically. Elrohir, blushing to the very tips of his ears, began to examine one of Legolas' discarded knives intensely. Seeing the Wood-Elf nude from the waist up had him quite flustered already, and he wanted to retain some control over his tongue, considering what he was about to say. 

Finally, having dried himself on a small scrap of cloth, Legolas re-dressed and sat at Elrohir's side. He opened his mouth to speak, and found one of the other Elf's fingers stilling his lips. "Let me speak," Elrohir began, and his nerves were obvious. "I have waited so very long… I…" Elrohir mentally berated himself. "_He watches me with such concern! Dear Legolas expects bad news… I hope this will not be it. Why can I not do this?"_

Time passed, and Legolas' patience began to wane. He took Elrohir's hand in his own, "Elrohir, my friend. You can tell me anything. Absolutely anything, just as we did when we were young. My ears are always open to you, and I—"

"—May I fix your hair?" 

Legolas blinked doubly, first at the interruption and then at the question. "Of course…"

Elrohir moved so that he sat behind the blond Elf, and began to run his fingers through the golden tresses, savouring the touch. It would be easier to speak his mind out from under the intense blue-grey gaze of the Prince. He did not need to be able to see his beloved's face to know the expression it wore. The mixture of confusion and frustration he could see go with little grief, but not the underlying care. Would Legolas even wish to see him, if he did not return the feelings about to be spoken? "_It does not matter. I must say this, no matter the result. I cannot go on any further not knowing, hurting myself like this."_

"Legolas… I…" Elrohir's words tangled on his tongue as the archer turned around to look him in the face, "I love you."

The Wood-Elf opened his mouth, as if to speak, and yet could produce no sound. He locked gazes with Elrohir, and for an age they sat and spoke volumes with their eyes. Finally, shaking himself out of his daze, Legolas turned his eyes to the sky. "Oh, Elrohir… I had no idea…" Choked with emotion was his voice, and little more than a whisper.

Elrohir felt tears begin to prick at his eyes, and fought desperately to keep them back. "I have always, I think, though I did not realize it at first. I have wanted to tell you for an age…" He paused, expecting some reply from Legolas. None came. At long last, Elrohir turned and placed a hand on the Elf's shoulder timidly. "What are you thinking, mellonamin?"

Legolas shut his eyes tightly, and exhaled shakily. He turned to look Elrohir in the face, and his heart broke at the tears that poured down his friend's cheeks. It took great effort to resist wiping them away, great effort to not draw the Elf into an embrace. 

"I… I am most honoured, Elrohir, flattered…" Legolas began awkwardly, his complete surprise and shock dissipating as his mind raced to word nicely what he was to say. He cringed even as the words left his tongue, "And you have my heart… as a brother." 

"Then it is true," Elrohir whispered, his heart utterly hollowed. "Another holds your heart. I am too late… Or, I would be, had I been in league with you. It was a dream of mine, understand…" Elrohir wiped furiously at his eyes, and turned his back on Legolas. "Just a foolish dream. Forget I mentioned anything."

"Elrohir… I do not know what I can say…"

With a strangled wail, Elrohir slumped and buried his face in his hands as he wept, drawing his knees up to his chest. Tears slipped unnoticed down Legolas' cheeks, and he reached out to place a hand upon Elrohir's quaking shoulder. "Leave me be," the dark-haired Elf sobbed, "You have said enough. I am not your… _taste._" 

Legolas recoiled at the last word, spat like acid amid the sobs. "I am a fool to deny you. Truly. You are a gift greater than all mithril—"

Elrohir sniffed miserably and glared from beneath furrowed brows. His hair stuck to his tear-soaked skin and his eyes were puffy and bloodshot. "Do not lie to me. False praise will not ease my pain." The hints and giggles of the Hobbits suddenly filled his mind, and his glare hardened at a sudden realization. "Nor that of Arwen, if your heart is indeed Estel's."

Legolas rose, and wandered toward the trees. Tears poured freely down his face, but he could not stop them and made no effort to. "I am truly a fool. You are right, Elrohir. I cannot ease Arwen's pain… Rest assured, I will not cause any. Even before my heart-strings were tightly knotted, I knew that it would be my end to fall for Estel. A King of Men… A male, betrothed mortal, one in need of heirs… I even doubt that he would return my feelings. Yet, I cannot help myself. Alas that I cannot love you as you love me, Elrohir!" 

Elrohir rose to trembling legs, and caught up to the golden-topped Elf, "Then love me! My heart bleeds for you…" He placed a strong, tear-wetted hand on Legolas' pale cheek. The other twined it's fingers through those of Legolas' right. "Let me love you…"

The Wood-Elf pulled away, and hated himself for doing so. The back of his hand swept away the tears that slipped down the curve of his cheek, but they were replaced. The pain that exuded from Elrohir was unbearable, and a cold fist gripped Legolas' soul. "I cannot… I cannot love you, Elrohir. Not right now. I'm so sorry…" 

"I'm sure you are," Elrohir grumbled, and he stormed toward the glade where the horses were resting. His tears dried in the wind, and anger replaced his hurt for a time. Anger was much easier to deal with, as proved by the satisfaction he felt when his fist connected with an immense oak. "I'm sure you are, Legolas."

"Elrohir, where are you going?!" 

The son of Elrond did not so much as pause. He glared over his shoulder at the forlorn Prince, and mounted his horse with a snarl. "That business is my own, _mellonamin._" 

With a kick and a shout, they were away.

***

The friendly banter of the camp stopped dead as the Elf rejoined them. The Hobbits stared, mouths agape, and Elladan rushed forward in alarm. Song entirely forgotten, the little foursome snapped out of their shock and hurried to the archer's side as well. Elladan stopped just within arm's reach, quite tempted to fold Legolas into a hug, but unknowing the reasons for his distress. Pippin was not so inhibited, and he clutched the Elf's pale hand lovingly. 

"What has happened?" Elladan breathed, scanning quickly for bodily harm and finding none. He clapped a hand to Legolas' shoulder gently, and realized suddenly what had upset the fair creature. Attempting to hide his gasp with a hand over his mouth, he searched the Wood-Elf's eyes anxiously. "Where is Elrohir?"

"Riding south upon Arlad," Legolas replied, his voice strained. His cheeks tinted with shame, as he had not wished to let the Hobbits see him in such a state. He had curbed his tears, and for the most part, levelled his voice, but his eyes were red and sorrowful, and they would take longer to recover. "Will you go to him?"

Elladan cursed softly, and wrapped his arms around Legolas. "I will. Go on without us, we shall catch up soon enough." 

Legolas nodded mutely, but then sniffled softly into Elladan's neck, "I'm sorry…"

Elladan pulled back, and smiled sadly. "Do not apologize, my friend, simply follow your heart. That is all anyone can ask of you. Take care! I bid you farewell now, but not for overlong." 

The Hobbits crowded around their Elf supportively, and bid Elladan farewell as he ran at a sprint towards the horses. They did not understand what had happened, but the sight of an Elf so near tears was quite alarming. Taking hold of the Elf's pale hands, they led him to fire's front and quickly began the most upbeat song they knew.

***

As Elladan had taken Nilithil to speed his chase, Legolas was left with only his feet when they set out once more. The Hobbits, on their ponies, were not horribly opposed to the change in pace, and alternated between walking and riding themselves. Dusk had fallen, and once more they had begun to set up camp. The Hobbits chatted quietly, much less jovially than earlier that afternoon, and the ponies grazed peacefully. Legolas headed north along the riverbed to scout their path and, truthfully, for a moment to think.

The birds sang to him, sharing tales of their own heartbreaks and reconciliations. The trees murmured gently in his ears, and for hours the Elf simply sat in the high branches, singing. If nothing else could tap the pain on his heart, song did. It had been his only consolation upon the Quest of the Ring, save his time spent with Aragorn.

"_Aragorn. My dear Estel. He will not love me, not as I want him to. Elrohir's heart is a gift! If I were not so caught in Estel, I might take up his offer. As it stands, I am set to break the hearts and friendships I value most, only to end up alone. It is as though I enjoy this heartache—_"

The distant crunch of footsteps on fallen leaves caught his ear quite suddenly, and Legolas nimbly leapt to a lower branch for a better view. No one was to be seen, and all sounds stopped. Just as he began to relax, pain tore through his lithe shoulder. Crying out in his agony, Legolas lost his feet and began to fall.

******

Cliff-hanger? Oh, no! Hehe… Sorry this update took me so long, I've been sick. It's pretty hard to write when you're struggling to breathe. :( I hope this chapter is satisfactory… I personally feel so, so bad for Elrohir. I had to fight with myself not to change this to E/L, but hopefully things will work out. We'll see, I've still got a *long* ways to go. I can't believe I'm almost at 50 reviews! That's so crazy, thanks so much! Hopefully we'll see Aragorn again in chapter 5… Coming soon! :D

Edit: Brownie points to mydogisfudge for spotting a mistake!  I knew I'd get the twins' names mixed up eventually.  :)

******


	5. The Calm Before the Storm

***

**Chapter Five: The Calm before the Storm**

*******

"Are you hungry, Master Gimli?"

            The sweet, melodic voice of Elrond's daughter brought Gimli from depths of thought.  The Dwarf blinked to focus his coal-black eyes, and gave the Elf before him a brief smile.  "Always, Lady."

            The Evenstar laughed lightly, and loosed a small pouch from her saddle.  Slowing upon her horse so the Dwarf could catch her side, she took a small handful of shelled nuts for herself and handed the bag to her companion.  "Fabled are the appetites of the Dwarves...  Your answer was wholly unexpected."

            Gimli laughed heartily at the Elf's sarcastic tone before tossing back a handful of nuts, shells and all.  He began to crunch happily, but as the shells splintered in his mouth he shot an alarmed look at Arwen.  "What foul nuts are these?!"

            Blue eyes twinkling, it was all Arwen could do to not burst into giggles.  "Shelled ones, I fear.  The nutmeats are quite good, and a favourite of my father's."****

"Shelled..."  Gimli's face soured, and he leaned from his pony to spit.  The sharp shell pieces stuck in his beard, and he looked such a picture that Arwen could not contain her amusement.  Peals of laughter reached the Dwarf's ears, and he could not help but roar himself.  As their laughter subsided, Gimli straightened in his saddle to grin at the Elf.  "The laughter of Elves!  'Twas only when the Hobbits got Legolas laughing that I thought him even remotely tolerable."

            Arwen returned his smile, but it did not reach her eyes.  "I was not overly fond of Legolas at first meeting, myself... but one _does_ warm up to him."

            Gimli nodded sagely.  "Indeed.  I am impossibly lucky to call him friend..."  Noting the sudden mist clouding the dark-haired Elf's eyes, he continued hurriedly. "And you, Lady Arwen, should I be so presumptuous as to assume your friendship!"

            Shaking her head, Arwen laughed lightly.  "Of course, Master Gimli.  I should hope to call you a friend as well!  I have enjoyed your company thus far...  And you have my thanks, once more, for letting me travel with you."

            "Bah!" said Gimli, and he waved her thanks away with a gloved hand.  "It has been a pleasure.  Arod and Hasufel are good company, but lack in conversation.  A question has been weighing heavily on my mind, if you won't mind me asking...  What has driven you from Minas Tirith, besides your desire to visit with the Lady Galadriel?"

            A sigh escaped the lips of Elrond's youngest.  "I would not trouble you."

            Gimli frowned.  He didn't want to pry, but he was terribly curious...  "You wouldn't."

            Smoothing her hair back, Arwen stared up at the awakening stars.  It was nearing twilight, and it would not be long before the mismatched pair would stop to make camp.  "Very well.  I...  I assume you have noticed Aragorn's affection for the Prince?"

            "Legolas?"

            Arwen raised an eyebrow.  "Yes, Legolas."  Gimli seemed to have found his feet fascinating, and said nothing.  The Elf shook her head incredulously,  "Who else?  They are inseparable!"

            "I know not what you are speaking of, Lady," Gimli stammered weakly.

            "You do, and we both know it.  I am not as delicate as I appear.  Verily, humouring me will do greater disservice than speaking the truth, harsh though it may be." Arwen argued, hands on her hips.  She tucked her hair behind her ears, and met the Dwarf's reluctant eyes.  "But tell me Gimli, did you notice?"

            Gimli shifted uncomfortably.  "I...  I must admit that I did."

            Arwen nodded, running thin fingers through her horse's mane as she fought back tears.  Gimli wracked his mind for wise words, but as he finally opened his mouth, Arwen cut him off.  

            "...Only a fool would not.  Do not worry, Elf-friend.  I have thought long and hard, and I am... _secure_," her voice was firm on the word, "in my decision.  I do love Aragorn, but we are not meant to be."  They passed through a small thicket, and emerged at the coarse-sanded side of a murky lake.  The slender Elf slipped down from her horse, and the Dwarf followed with considerably less grace.  "I think I have always known, though I long deceived myself.  As for Aragorn...  Dear Estel has lived his entire life believing that I am his destined love."

            "He does love you, Lady..."

            Arwen laughed bitterly.  "Yes, he does.  Not the way he thinks he does, but that will be discovered in time.  To answer your question, Gimli, I fled Minas Tirith to give Aragorn space to make that discovery."  She paused, then, and turned away to hide the tears that escaped her eyes.  "And, I must admit... it was difficult to be in Estel's company...  Very much so."

            "'Tis a beautiful, selfless act..."  Gimli took Arwen's slender hand in his own grubby pair, and looked up at her silver tears helplessly.   "I wish that there were further words of comfort I could offer you, but I am not, alas, adept in the way of words.  I do know, however, that so lovely a maiden should have no trouble finding her own true love, and soon...  None can compare, save perhaps the Lady of the Wood." ****

Contrary to his expected reaction, Arwen sighed loudly and rolled her clear blue eyes.  She looked down at the Dwarf with a scowl.  "I have heard those words of comfort before, and they helped not...  Beautiful I may be, but it is as much a curse as it is a gift.  It is all males ever see..."

            Gimli frowned, tutting lightly.  "Arwen, dear...  I wasn't referring to your looks.  There is more to you than silky hair and shiny lips..."

            A long moment passed as the Elf's mouth hung agape.  A tear slid down her cheek unnoticed, and she wrapped her arms around the Dwarf.  "Gimli." She tucked her face into his beard, "Thank you..." 

***

            "I remember the first time I laid eyes upon you, Gimli.  You stood at your father's side on the morn of the Council.  Glóin must be so proud of you...  Have you spoken to him?"

            The Dwarf laughed softly as he stirred the fire.  "I haven't.  Did he stay long in Rivendell after we departed?  He had not made final his plans when we last spoke..."

            Arwen sat upon a fallen tree, silver-blue cloak shimmering in the firelight.  A packet of lembas sat at her feet, forgotten in after-dinner conversation.  "Nay, not long.  He was not so open to the Elven-folk as you are, save perhaps father...  If memory serves me, they met long ago during Bilbo's trek to Erebor.  He left for the Lonely Mountain soon after your Fellowship left."

            Gimli nodded distractedly.  "I have missed him, and the company of the Dwarves."

            "Legolas mentioned that as well," Arwen said, "That the Hobbits were wonderful company, Gandalf, the Men, and yourself of course, Gimli... but he told me how he had missed the presence of Elves."

            "Aye, I figured as much.  He spent hours upon hours in the trees; talking to the Elms, singing to the Beeches...  I worried for his sanity, until Aragorn assured me that his behaviour was the norm for a Wood-Elf.  I _had_ heard that they were rather...  _wild."_

Arwen covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.  It had been centuries since she had set foot in Mirkwood, but its inhabitants had left a lasting impression.  "I believe they prefer '_in tune with nature'_, Master Gimli, but you are absolutely right.  The Beeches are his favourite...  They have always been."

            Gimli threw back his head and laughed.  "Beeches...  Bah!  Crazy Elf.  I take it you've known him for quite some time, then?"

            "I have known Legolas since my second year, when we were introduced during business of our fathers.  We were both far too young to remember it, so when he spent several years in Rivendell as an Elfling, we thought we were meeting for the first time.  It was then that we became fast friends, and we have remained such ever since...  I dearly hope that our issues with Estel will not change anything..."

            "Surely they won't.  The speed with which he forgave your assault will speak for the strength of your bond..." teased the Dwarf, and he tossed another log on their fire.  Arwen cringed, and covered her fair face with both hands.  Gimli put a thick arm around her shoulders, and with a blush she was finally able to laugh at herself.  The whole ordeal had been so absurd...

            "I have never been so horrified," she admitted sheepishly, "I thought Estel was going to kill me, and if not he, then father.  Elrohir still may!"

            Gimli chuckled, "All will have blown over by the time we return to Minas Tirith.  Besides, that crazy Elf probably deserved it, sneaking about as he was..."

            Arwen grinned at Gimli's teasing, and marvelled at how comfortable they had become with one another.  Slipping out from beneath his heavy arm, Arwen rose and pecked Gimli on the cheek.  "Sleep well, Gimli."

            "Goodnight, Lady."

***

            They rode through the night, did the White Rider and his White Horse.  Shadowfax was relentless in his sprint, and Hannor upon Pewen his borrowed horse fought to keep up.  If such deeds were not expected of so powerful an Istari as Gandalf, his flight from Osgiliath to Rhosgobel would be marked more prominently in the annals of the Third Age.  A week had passed since Hannor had made himself known, merely seven days since their departure from camp.  They had eaten little, and slept less, and at long last the trees of Mirkwood, now known as Eryn Lasgalen, passed in a deep green blur on their right.  

            In their rush, few words were exchanged.  At first the silence had been welcomed, as by the tone of Radagast's note, there was little time to spare.  In the prolonged silence, however, Gandalf began to feel the bristle of unease.  Hannor had fallen from shouting distance, and at a mumbled command from the Wizard, Shadowfax slowed to a trot.  "What other news have you for me?"

            "Little," said Hannor breathlessly.  "We had all but folded upon ourselves during Sauron's bid, and just as things began to normal themselves, this happened..."

            Gandalf nodded, eyes piercing the distance that still stood between them and Radagast's home.  There was no way Hannor's horse Pewen could keep up to Shadowfax if the Mearh* hit full speed.  "I will be waiting for your arrival in Rhosgobel.  I shouldn't like to leave you, but you seem far safer in my eyes than my old friend Radagast.  We cannot tell what perils have befallen him; it has been weeks since you have last seen him, and more than a year for myself.  I go to him now as fast as Shadowfax will take me."

            "I wish you what luck I may," Hannor nodded, unable to keep stress' strain and disappointment out of his voice.  He patted Pewen's neck with a rough, filthy hand.  "We will be on your heels."  

            The Istari nodded solemnly, first to the strange messenger and then his golden steed.  Pewen snorted in protest, and Gandalf's sharp eyes smiled for the horse's loyalty.  Pewen was not keen on being left behind.  Returning his gaze to Hannor, the Wizard re-snugged his hat and smiled grimly.  "Do not trouble to worry.  Farewell!"  With a shouted Elvish command, the pair became a white blur, and quickly shrank from sight.  

            A malicious sneer appeared upon the haggard face of Hannor, as he tightened his grip on the reins and turned the horse south.  "Farewell," he said, glancing back over his shoulder,  "I will not worry."

***       

            "Such swift feet," mused Gandalf, "Even you must be amazed, Shadowfax!  We have come so far, and now at our left festers old Dol Guldur.  Simple rubble now, and yet every detail of my service there stands vividly clear in my addled mind.  Alas!  In the here and now, our foe is forgotten, and yet I still feel his threat swamping Amon Lanc.  Ride hard, Shadowfax!  Speed me from this foul ground!"

            Shadowfax sped at his master's request, until his powerful white limbs were little more than a blur, and a racket of hooves followed at pause.   When the hill that housed the Necromancer in his day had faded into the swath of wood, Gandalf's troubles weighed still upon his mind.  Finally, when the moon leapt into the sky and seemed to chastise the Istari for riding so hard and so long, the White Wizard found a spot to rest.  

            Warming his feet by crackling fire, Gandalf puffed thoughtfully on his pipe.  He had been rather invested in the idea that Sauron's abandoned fortress, Dol Guldur, was the source of his unease.  Verily, he was concerned for the well-being of Radagast, and to a lesser extent, the party of Elves and Hobbits he had left so abruptly, but there was simply something… more.  Turning to Shadowfax, who was nearing sleep, he mumbled softly.  

            "Can you sense this, my old friend?  Trouble.  Yes, I have not yet forgotten its scent.  I am quite sure that I ride _into_ trouble, and not away from it, but I worry still for the Hobbits."  Snorting conversationally, Shadowfax tossed his head in the light breeze.  Gandalf nodded absently, "Yes, I suppose you are right.  Legolas is with them, and the sons of Elrond are strong and brave...  No, it is for Radagast alone that I must worry."

            The wise eyes of the Istari wandered north, toward Rhosgobel and his old friend.  Though the brightest hours of the day were long gone, the sky was unnaturally dark there, as sharply wisped black clouds overthrew every scrap of light.  Clucking his tongue quietly, the Wizard turned south and scanned his wake for any sign of Radagast's messenger.  There was none, and instead of friendly conversation lulling him into sleep, he unrolled Radagast's note and re-read its scratchy handwriting.  

            "_Olórin, I regret that it is only in a time of need that I call upon our longstanding friendship, but my need is proving quickly to be more than I am able to handle.  I beg of you, come with all speed to Rhosgobel.  I cannot hold out overlong, and we Maia are faltering in our stay.  I cannot—certainly I dare not, speak of what terror has caked this bumbling Istari, for fear my message is intercepted, so I will wait with bated breath and hope hard._

_                                                                                                In speed and health, _

_                                                                                                                        Aiwendil."_

            It had seemed rather strange at first that the bird-lover had used their names of old, but Gandalf brushed it off as simple formalities.  Radagast's penmanship was unmistakeable, however rushed, and that thought alone soothed the Wizard's mind.   At least this cry for help was true, and not some foul-minded forgery.  

            Stretching out at fire's side, and making sure that his long, white beard was far from the flames, Gandalf closed his blue eyes and tried to sleep.  Some time passed, but the ragged breaths of Shadowfax and the howl of the wind in the trees kept the Istari from much-needed slumber.  At long last, when his exhaustion was complete, Gandalf allowed dreams to take him, the worrisome note still clutched in one gnarled hand.

*** 

            The white tree of Gondor was engraved upon the goblet, faded with years.  The wine it held, however, was anything but dulled by winters passed.  Twirling the glasses long stem with nimble fingers, the golden-haired Elf grinned at his companion.  "I trust you enjoyed your meal?"

            Elrond smiled drowsily, and reached across the table to take the Elf's pale hand.  "My dear Glorfindel, I have never tasted better…  For all the years I have known you, and verily they _have_ begun to pile, you have never ceased to amaze me.  What secrets of spice and spoon have you?"

            Glorfindel beamed at the praise, and plucked the silver spoon from his plate.  Tapping it against the carved armrest of his chair, and then stirring it about in the air, he shrugged lightly.  "I have no secrets…  A spoon is a spoon, my Lord, though this one seems to be rather more elaborately built than others.  The King's personal supply, I should guess…  As for spices, I had only what the cooking staff allowed me.  Less than keen, they were, on letting a strange Elf muck about their kitchen."

            Elrond's hand slipped away from Glorfindel's, and joined its twin on his full stomach.  A contented smile on his handsome face, the half-Elf reclined further in his chair.  "Muck about indeed!  It is a shame the Hobbits are not here.  They would appreciate your skills beyond any other!"  

            "Indeed," said Glorfindel softly, "They will be in Rohan, surely, by now."

            Elrond nodded, "Unless Legolas convinced them to tarry in Ithilien, I have no doubt.  Estel doesn't seem to be handling the absence of his crew terribly well…  He has buried himself in his work, and will say naught of anything else.  The eight must have bonded incredibly on their path."

            "Aye," Glorfindel agreed, drinking deeply.

            "Though," Elrond mused, "I suspect the abrupt leave of Arwen has a good deal to do with this silence."

            "What reasons had she?"

            Elrond paused thoughtfully, "She told me that Estel did not love her as anything but a sister, to which he has openly denied many times—"

            "Many times since?"

            "…No, but I would like to believe he still would.  Arwen told me that she likely would not participate in her own wedding, for there is another who holds Estel's heart.  Who that is, I cannot tell, and the King has buried himself in his duties so well that I have not been about to draw it from him."

            At this last, Glorfindel's pale green eyes widened significantly.  "You cannot tell?"

            "Nay.  I am sure it is not Elladan or Elrohir, and besides the Fellowship there are few he is close with.  Unless, of course, it is upon you his eyes linger…" Elrond teased lightly, veiling his frustration.  

            Glorfindel blinked, "You honestly cannot tell?  My faith in your Elven eyes falters, for it is obvious to me whom Arwen refers to!  Even poor Elrohir realizes, if he will not admit so to himself…"

            Elrond scowled, "Will you keep your secrets, then?  Tell me!"

            Glorfindel smiled brilliantly.  "Thranduil's Greenleaf."

            "Legolas?"

            "Legolas."

            A flood of memories filled the Lord of Imladris' mind…  The first time he had met Legolas, only a babe in his mother's arms.  The first time he had met Estel, little more than 2 years of age in _his_ mother's arms.  The disastrous first meeting of the mismatched and troublesome pair themselves.  He shook his head in disbelief, meeting Glorfindel's amused eyes.  "How do you know this?"

            "It is written all over their faces.  Trust me, I would not lie to you."

            Elrond finally smiled, and leaned over the table to kiss Glorfindel on the cheek.  "I know.  Forgive my questions!  I did not expect to hear Legolas' name fly from your tongue…"  Slipping easily back into his seat, he tucked a stray hair behind his shoulder.  "But, now that it has…  It is a wonder that I did not see it before."

            Glorfindel smirked, "It is."

            "Well…"

            "Well indeed, love.  Tell me, what are you thinking?"  Glorfindel asked, unsure of what reaction to expect from the dark-haired Elf.  Elrond had known Legolas for nearly the entirety of the archer's life, and they had always been close, but Arwen was his daughter, his blood.  

            "What a mess this is," Elrond finally broke his silence, "the three of them.  One, my own child, and two whom I have long thought of as sons three and four."  He pinched the bridge of his nose.  "I will not interfere.  They are all adults, they will work things out, and then I shall support fully the results."

            Glorfindel smiled, "That sounds like a plan."

            "It does.  I swear, these children will be the death of me…"  After a sigh, a chuckle and then a pause, he looked at Glorfindel with amused eyes, "Is there more wine?"

            The blond Elf before him grinned.  "Of course."

***

            The sun was setting, sinking into oblivion behind the craggy peaks of the White Mountains.  Casting a rosy glow upon the land it touched, and warming the evening air, it did not set unwatched.  The King Elessar stood at the west-facing windows in his study, but his mind was leagues away.  

            Thoughts drifted to Arwen, and his face soured unintentionally.  He had not dared speak of the Evenstar since her abrupt departure, especially since only Elrond and Glorfindel remained of those he held dear.  It was doubtful that his betrothed's father would take kindly to the King's change of heart.  "_Change of heart?  It is as though I have decided already!  Arwen I love dearly, and I will stand before all of Middle-earth and say so…  And yet, I have lived my life as her brother—pesky, troublesome.  Beloved of course, but it hardly translates to the love of a soulmate…  Mayhap she has realized this, and thus flees my presence.  Mayhap I have also realized this, and thus stand in the setting sun and debate my feelings_…  _Arwen asked me if I truly wished to marry my sister…  And now, I cannot say that I do…_"

            With a sigh, he ran callused and beaten hands through his dark hair.  The sky had taken a decidedly golden hue, and unconsciously his thoughts strayed to his golden-haired Prince.  Legolas, Legolas.  Where was he now?  Would their stop in Lothlorien gain him a suitor in Haldir?  The marchwarden had been terribly fond of the Fellowship's Elf, and likewise, though Aragorn suspected that Legolas' affection for the Silvan Elf was purely innocent.  "_It would be fitting, in its irony.  I discover my feelings, lose Arwen to them, and welcome my beloved Legolas home with Haldir upon his arm_."

            There came a knock upon the solid wooden door, and Aragorn spun to find Elrond smiling at him.  The Elven Lord was leaning against the frame, as the door was open, and held an empty wine glass in his slender hand.  "Estel, here you are!"

            Aragorn smiled broadly, recognizing the tint of alcohol in his foster-father's voice.  "Good evening, Adar."

            "Why did you not come for dinner?  Glorfindel has enchanted the taste-buds of half your people, and their King should not go without!"  Elrond exclaimed, staggering forward to take Aragorn's arm.  "Men need a solid dinner, not leaves and lembas like silly Elves!  Is that not what you told me as a child?"

            "It is," chuckled Aragorn.  "What has Glorfindel created this eve?"

            "A …stew of some sort," Elrond replied, his powers of description apparently lacking thanks to his consumption of the potent wine.  "It is really rather good."

            "I shall find what remnants I can, shortly.  I have an errand to run."

            "Errand!?"  Elrond's voice was incredulous.  "Nonsense!"  He gripped Aragorn's arm tightly with his left hand, and threw his right arm around the Man's powerful shoulders.  Leading a decidedly wavy path to the door, he took the amused Aragorn down to the dining hall just in time for second helpings.  Happily, Aragorn was able to shoo Arwen and Legolas and their complications from his mind and relax, at least until noble Lord Elrond decided he was going to dance.

            Leaning back in his chair, and trying not to laugh out loud at the sight of his father's 'dancing', Aragorn turned to an equally amused Glorfindel.  Tipping his bowl so that the Elf could see it's cleaned surface, he clapped the Eldar on the shoulder.  "He is right, you know.  This is delicious."

            Glorfindel laughed softly, "My thanks.  It is a simple thing, cooking, and oft left for lesser servants, but I truly enjoy it.  It is an art of sorts, though hardly as long-standing."

            "It seems a silly thing, such a noble and celebrated Elf-Lord as yourself, toiling in the kitchens.  Yet, if it makes you happy, and Adar happy, then my kitchens are always open to you," said Aragorn.

            Glorfindel nodded, his smile fixed upon his handsome face.  "Since Elrond is rather…  distracted, I must ask this of you:  have you put thought into your wedding situation?"

            The implied meaning of Glorfindel's question was not easily missed, and Aragorn squirmed slightly in his seat.  "I have, and at times clear things up.  At other times, every course of action seems to lead to a dead end, and I become more confused than before…"

            Glorfindel smiled kindly.  "Aye, I can understand as much.  Do you wish, still, to marry Arwen?"

            "Nay," said Aragorn slowly in a soft voice, "Nay, I do not.  I love her, and that is the honest truth, but I love her dearly as my sister.  I tried to convince myself that my love would translate, but never did I shiver upon sharing a chaste kiss…  I cannot imagine sharing my life with her, we are not right.  We are not meant to be, I think, though I doubt recently that I know anything at all."

            "I think you know more than you realize," said Glorfindel.  "You are not meant to be, I can see it also.  I have long seen it, though I did not think it my place to interfere."

            Aragorn laughed then, and shook his head.  "Imagine, Glorfindel!  Falling in love with my dearest friend…"

            Glorfindel's pale green eyes settled on still-dancing Elrond.  "My imagination does not strain to think, Estel."

            Aragorn followed the Elf's gaze, and grinned.  Elrond and Glorfindel were like two halves of a whole, and it was heart-warming to see his too-serious father so deliriously happy.  "I suppose you can.  When you told Adar, did you not fear that he would reject you?  That your friendship would be lost, and all years tallied?"

             "Of course!"  Glorfindel exclaimed, "But in time I realized that I would never be happy unless I was truthful.  For my luck, it paid off…"

            Nodding, Aragorn downed the last of his drink.  "Then I suppose I should have a talk with Legolas as soon as he returns."

            "Aye," agreed Glorfindel, "That you should."

*** 

            "Your Highness?  King Elessar?"

            The voice was young, and high enough that the dozing King could not tell if it was a young male or female who was trying to rouse him so politely.  He had never been easy to wake, unless you were a threatening sound in the out-of-doors.  In his bed, Aragorn slept like the dead.  Here, slumped in his throne, he merely grunted in his sleep and turned his head.  

            "King Elessar?  Sire…?"  The voice was beginning to sound frustrated.  "A thousand apologies, my lord," it said, and Aragorn felt breath against his ear, and then a terrible shout, "WAKE UP!"

            The startled King leapt from his seat, bowling the poor child over in the process.  He scanned the room for danger, but finding none extended a hand to the cowering child.  "Are you hurt?"    

            The boy, who couldn't have been more than ten, brushed himself off.  "No, your highness!  I'm sorry for waking you like that, but I thought it was a better idea than striking you…"

            Aragorn laughed, and clapped the boy on the shoulder.  The boy was terribly thin, and the King made a mental note to make sure he and his family were getting enough to eat.  "Indeed it was!  Especially since I sleep with Andúril at my side…" He winked, and the boy marvelled at the indicated sword.  "What is your name, and what can I do for you?"

            "I— I am called Anardil …" said the boy with an awkward bow.

            "Anardil!  That is a noble name…  The sixth King of Númenor, an ally of Gil-Galad was named such, as was the sixth King of Gondor!  What message have you for me, little prince?"  Aragorn asked, smiling broadly.  Unnoticed in the doorway, a smiling Glorfindel shook his head.  The King would make a wonderful father once he decided on a mate, be it Arwen or Legolas…

            "The traffic in this room leaves it a mess, King Elessar, and the others told me to wake you so they could clean it…  They said I had to do it because I'm the youngest," Anardil explained warily, and from the look in his eyes it was clear he expected trouble for the nuisance he represented.

            Aragorn frowned lightly, "Who told you that?"

            "Cemendil."

            "You can tell Cemendil that the King thinks him a coward," Aragorn replied, patting the boy's dark, tangled curls.  "But I will retire to my chambers.  Tell him he is free to clean, if you will, and then retire yourself.  Be sure to stop by the kitchens, and take some of Lord Glorfindel's stew to your family, it is delicious."

            Anardil cocked his head, "…but I have not completed my duties, my lord!"

            "Why does a boy your age work in the first place, Anardil?"

            The boy stared down at his shoddily-clad feet, and when he spoke the former Ranger had to strain to hear him.  "My father died at the Pelennor Fields, and my mother is with child.  There is no one else…"

            Aragorn closed his eyes, and bit back a curse.  Kneeling before Anardil, he rested his large hands on the boy's thin shoulders and looked him directly in the eye.  "Cleaning is no job for the son of a hero!  You are a hero yourself, not many boys could take care of their mothers like you do…  I know I could not."  Anardil smiled faintly at the King's words, but said nothing.  "Roheryn, my horse," Aragorn began, "is in dire need of a hostler*.  He requires a great deal of attention, feeding, grooming and such…   He loves nothing more than racing about the countryside…  I regret that I have so little time for him, being King, as he grows impatient standing in the stable!"

            Anardil's honey-brown eyes nearly bulged out of his head.  "I could do it!  Father used to have a horse, and he taught me all about them!  Please, I would do my very best, and I promise I would keep Roheryn happy!  The happiest!"  Anardil cried emphatically.  Glorfindel, behind them, had to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh.  

            Aragorn gasped dramatically as though the idea hadn't occurred to him, though his eyes were sparkling.  "Why, that seems a grand idea!  Roheryn will be lucky to have you, Anardil, and you will be lucky to have him!  You _do_ know how to ride, don't you?"

            "Yes I do!"  Anardil exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.  "When shall I start?"

            "Tomorrow," the King replied.  "You shall be paid handsomely, of course, because he is the horse of the King!  And when I am away with some business of the Kingdom, there are other horses you might tend.  You will never clean a floor again, little prince."

            Forgetting completely that the person before him was in fact the King, Anardil flung his arms around Aragorn's neck and hugged the life out of the much larger man.  "Thank you!  I cannot wait to tell mother!"

            "Go and tell her," Aragorn urged, beaming, "but don't forget your stew."

            Anardil raced out of the room at high speed, nearly trampling Glorfindel, and with a rushed apology he was soon out of sight.  Glorfindel smiled broadly, "That was rather gallant of you, Estel."

            Shrugging out of a dark cloak, Aragorn yawned.  "The poor boy deserved far better than he was getting, and that is sure.  I did what anyone would do."

            Glorfindel simply shook his head.  "I stopped by your chambers to say goodnight, but when you were not there I came looking.  You had best get to bed.  Kings need their rest, you know."

            A smile crept onto the tired face of the Ranger.  "I know.  Goodnight, Glorfindel."

***

            Strange dreams were nothing new to Aragorn, but it was strange for him to remember much of them when he awoke.  Now, as he raced about his chambers, collecting herbs, weapons, spare clothes and scraps of food, his most recent dream was alarmingly clear in his mind.  Clutching a small, and now filled, travelling pack, the King headed down the hallway at high speed.  It was too real.  Too real.  

            __

_            Anduin roared to his east, but the sound was dulled by hundreds upon hundreds of trees.  Looking around, he found himself in a freshly-rained upon coniferous wood, surrounded by almost ridiculously tall trees.  Aragorn frowned, and it seemed to him that he was lost in this forest, and didn't have a reason for being there in the first place.  Wandering forward aimlessly, he suddenly heard the brittle snap of branches beneath feet.  _

_            Hardly daring to move, Aragorn drew Andúril_,_ and spun slowly in search for the sound's source.  He could not find it, at first, until he spotted a bowman in the bushes almost directly before him.  How well he blended in!  Surely better than Aragorn did, and it was a wonder, but the bowman did not seem to notice him.  The stranger readied his bow, aiming for the sky, and Aragorn followed the arrow's projected path into the branches of a particularly tall tree.  What he saw there nearly stopped his heart.  _

_            Gold, and green.  Legolas.  With a roar, Aragorn charged for the bowman, but could not stop the loosing of his first arrow.  It must have hit its mark, as Legolas cried out, crashing through the branches to the ground with a horrible, sickening thud.  Impaling the bowman with his sword, Aragorn raced to the Elf's side with tears in his eyes.  Legolas lay in a crumpled heap, not moving, hardly breathing.  _

_            Grey eyes that once had sparkled faded before Aragorn's own.  "Estel…" coughed Legolas, and his words were his last and greatest effort, "Estel, why…?" A trickle of blood dripped from Legolas' mouth, and the Elf's eyes began to fill with tears, "Why didn't you save me?"  _ _He closed his eyes and exhaled softly, and then he was no more._

_            Aragorn stared down at the Elf in his arms, unshed tears collecting in his eyes.  He clutched the slender archer to his chest, and began to rock back and forth.  A wail escaped him, and he clutched at his breaking heart in agony.  Legolas was dead…  He was gone, and it was his fault…   Aragorn bent to kiss Legolas' fair brow, and ran his fingers through the Elf's pale, silky hair.  His thumbs trailed over soft eyelids, parted his still-warm lips.  He traced the delicate arch of Legolas' eyebrows, his strong jaw and leaf-shaped ears.   The Elf looked so peaceful in death, but it was little comfort.  _

_            Tears began to fall freely, and Aragorn made no effort to wipe them away.  They wetted Legolas' skin, and for a long while the King simply stared at his fallen friend, committing every detail of him to memory.  Memorizing the contours of his face.  Mapping his impossibly strong, lithe body, enthralling in its beauty and grace. _

_             "Legolas, I love you…" It was little more than a sob.   Taking a long hunting knife from its sheath, he stilled the point at his heart and thrust in the blade.  Coughing blood, just as his beloved had, Aragorn mumbled an apology to the Elf, before losing the battle with darkness himself…  _

Reaching the stables, he found Anardil brushing Roheryn's mane fondly.  It was the middle of the night, but it was apparent that the boy had been there for quite a while.  Appreciating the lad's eagerness, Aragorn patted him on the head as he passed.  "I have urgent business, Anardil.  I must take Roheryn at once, but if you would tend my other horses I would be most appreciative.  Also," Aragorn fished a piece of parchment from his pocket, "give this to Lord Elrond, or Lord Glorfindel, in the morning.  Farewell!"

            "Where are you going?" cried Anardil, taking the offered parchment and watching the King mount his horse in full Ranger-attire.  Securing his pack, Aragorn gave Anardil a grim smile.  

            "I cannot say.  Be sure to give the note to Elrond or Glorfindel in the morning!"  Then, patting Roheryn's neck, he cried, "Noro lim, Roheryn!"   

***

*Mearh – Shadowfax is a Mearas, which singular, apparently, is 'Mearh'.  (Weird, hmm?)

*Hostler - Someone employed in a stable to take care of the horses.  (Hey, I didn't know…)

**This is an updated version of chapter 5**.  Please, if you aren't reading this for the first time, re-read it.  I think I rushed the previous version, and I really wasn't satisfied with it.  I hope everyone likes this one better.  To clear things up, Arwen and Gimli are just friends in this story.  I admit I was tempted, but I think that's a tale best saved for another fic.  People who were wondering about Aragorn, here you are!   :)  People who think Elrond would be funny drunk, here you are!  Hehe…  the whole A/A/L/E situation is starting to weigh on him, so he's got an excuse.  I'd be a little stressed if all but one of my children were involved in a love quadrilateral!  Hopefully I'll get chapter 6 out quickly, and thank you _so _much for your continuing reviews, I love you all.  Seriously!  

Oh, and I realize I've left Legolas dangling.  That's because I'm evil.  We'll see him in the next chapter…  Probably.  ;)

***


	6. Rescue Rangers, Away!

***

**Author's Note: **I have updated Chapter 5, so please re-read it before starting this Chapter.  The new version is so, so much better and will leave you better prepared for what's to come in the next few chapters.  Thanks, and sorry for the trouble.  

-Amia  :)

***

**Chapter Six: Rescue Rangers, Away!**

*******

            "Merry?"

            "Honestly, Pippin!  We've got to save _some_ food for tomorrow, you know!"

            The youngest of the Hobbits glowered beneath a snarl of dusty brown curls.  He sat legs-deep in his sleeping roll, the remains of his dinner resting on his lap.  "I wasn't going to say that, Brandybuck."

            "Oh," said Merry, and he cocked his head curiously.  "Well, what is it then?"

            "I thought we might call for Legolas, before we all go to sleep?  He'll want to keep a watch…"

            Meriadoc smiled fondly at the young one.  "You're right, Pip.  No sense old Sam losing sleep, when Legolas will be up all night anyways."  Turning toward the river, he realized that both watchman Sam and a decidedly tired-looking Frodo had overheard their conversation.  "All right, Sam?"

            "All right, Mister Merry," Sam said earnestly.

            "We should leave Legolas be, I think," said Frodo quietly, and his kinsmen all turned to look at him.  "I know he said he was going to scout, but I've half a mind he just wanted the peace and quiet."

            Pippin nodded skeptically, and turned to peer into the darkness.  Something unsettling was in the air, and it had left the Hobbit rather antsy.  "I think you're right, Frodo, but I should like to check on him just the same.  If we are sleeping, then he will have his peace and quiet.  It has been long since he left, and it's not like Legolas to keep us in the dark.  Please?  To settle my mind, if nothing else…"

            Frodo gave his young cousin a small smile, and clambered tiredly to his feet.  "Lead the way, Pippin."

            "I'll keep an eye on the fire," said Merry, and he poked said blaze, sending sparks high into the crisp night air.  "Keep together, mind."

            Sam leapt to his feet, and took Frodo's arm insistently.  The Ringbearer smiled faintly, and the pair followed Pippin from the fire-lit camp into the wooded dark.  They walked for the most part in silence, too tired and too focused upon spotting the Elf to make much conversation.  Occasionally one would stumble over a root or some trick of the shadows, but at long last they came over a hillock and found the ground before them trampled.  

            "Big Folk," said Sam, hunching over to inspect the footprints, "Lots of them, I reckon."

            "Booted ones," Pippin agreed, and the pair beamed at one another for lessons learned from their Ranger-friend.  "These tracks are fresh, and it looks like they were in a hurry!"

            Frodo felt an icy breath of wind on his neck, and grimaced.  It seemed that Pippin's fears were not wholly unfounded.  Foul deeds hung in the air, and abruptly he spun to face the younger Hobbits.  "We must find Legolas, and quickly.  Friendly folk do not leave such harsh marks…"

            Faces grimming, Sam and Pippin nodded.  The trio sped to a trot and followed the muddy trail, and began to call their missing friend's name.  "Legolas!" cried Pippin, "Where are you hiding?"

            They found what they would of him sooner than expected.  Past the immense trunks of several aged conifers, a scrap of grey-green cloth shimmered where it hung.  The Hobbits gasped, and clutched each other's hands…  The cloak, undoubtedly Legolas' from Lothlorien, was suspended at three times their height from a gnarled branch on the foremost tree. 

            "No!" cried Sam, and shaking his hand free of Pippin's grip, he rushed towards the tree in vain.  Frodo made move to follow, but caught his oversized feet and fell heavily to the ground.  Hearing the muffled curses of his master, Samwise turned to meet the Ringbearer's grimace with one of his own.  "Are you all right, Mister Frodo?"

            "I will be," came the reply, "'Twas merely a branch…"

            Pippin plucked the offending object from the ground, and turned it over with shaking hands.  "This is no branch," he said, "it is the bow of Galadriel!"

            Frodo, though naturally pale, and unnaturally pale thanks to his stint as Ringbearer, turned paler still.  He rose to shaky feet, and felt panic rise in his throat.  "Samwise," he breathed, and the portly gardener rushed forth to grip his master's shoulders…  "Go to Merry, and pack our things at once.  Bring the ponies!"

            Without a word, Sam nodded emphatically, and turning he sped to his fullest sprint and quickly disappeared into the bush.  Pippin clutched the bow to his small chest, and with teary eyes he looked to Frodo.  "The string is broken.  He could not fight them…"

            Frodo put a firm hand on Pippin's shoulder.  "He fought regardless.  I am sure of it…"

***       

            "Mister Merry!"

            The Hobbit in question grunted irritably, as he had just settled into his sleeping roll and was quite ready for a good night's sleep.  Running dirty fingers through his tousled hair, he cracked an eye to look at the disturbance.  Sam was rushing about the campsite, cramming whatever he found loose into their traveling packs.  He kicked up a great deal of dirt and partially smothered the fire, and on his way past Merry to gather the ponies, he gave the Hobbit a stiff kick.  "Oi!  Sam, what's your fuss!?"

            Sam paused to look at him gravely, "Our Legolas is in trouble, Mister Merry, and he needs our help!"

            "Trouble?"  

            "Someone nabbed him, I reckon," said Sam with a pant, as he dropped Merry's pack into the younger Hobbit's lap.  "We found his bow and Elf-cloak…"

            Merry leapt to his feet, almost falling as his blankets twisted about his legs.  Strapping on his pack, and then securing Pippin's to a pony, he grabbed his sleeping roll and mounted the docile beast.  "Lead the way, Sam!  And hurry!"

            "Hurry?" Sam scowled as they urged their ponies faster, "No need to tell me!"

            Standing chest-high in bushes, quite undetected and grinning from ear to ear, it was all the man could do not to laugh aloud.  What threat did halflings with round bellies and butter-knives pose?  None.  Pint-sized rescue would not come to the Elf that night, nor any night that followed.  He would see to it personally.    

***

            The night sky had been dark in the first place, but the clouds that littered it were darker still.  They seemed, almost, to suck the light of Middle-earth and replace it with bucket after bucket of icy rain.  It made miserable work for the Hobbits.

            Though the initial scramble of panic had long since worn off, dread was beginning to settle into their hearts.  With every hour passed, they knew the chances of finding their Elf diminished.  The fact that he had been captured in the first place was perhaps the most unsettling thought of all.  Aside Aragorn, the Elf was the one member of the Fellowship who seemed never to falter.  Even Gandalf had fallen in Moria, had struggled with Saruman before the Fellowship was formed…  But Legolas was always there, always strong.  With bow, knives, or his deceptively fragile-looking fists, the Elf in battle was truly a force to be reckoned with.  Sharpest senses, stealth and speed unmatched, it must have been a formidable foe indeed to get the better of the Prince.  

            "How long have we been riding?"

            "Not long enough, Pippin," replied Frodo gravely, "we haven't found him yet."

            Pippin nodded bleakly.  The trail of footprints had become harder to follow once they reached higher, rain-sheltered ground, but it still wound through the trees alongside (though at some distance) the roaring Anduin.  _If only Elladan and Elrohir had not left us!  It is sheer stupidity to think that four under-armed Hobbits might defeat the captor of an Elf-warrior like Legolas, and yet…  What else can we do?  I would ride back to find the twins if I had the vaguest idea of their direction, and Oi!  If only old Strider were here…_

            Shaking his curly head, the Hobbit cleared his mind of doubt and trained his eyes on the path.  They would not fail in this.  The Elf had saved their lives time after time, and they were long overdue to repay his brave deeds.  _No, we will not fail.  We simply cannot…_

***

            "Here you are!" cried Elladan as he spotted his twin at long last.  Elrohir sat upon his haunches at River's side, handful of crimson berries forgotten in thought.  The Elf did not so much as flinch at his brother's sudden arrival, and upon examining him from horse-back, Elladan was not sure if the younger son of Elrond still drew breath, or if he were a masterpiece of stone carved by masters of the Riddermark.  "Elrohir…?"

            "Elladan."

            The reply was curt and not unexpected, but the fact that his brother had spoken heartened Elladan.  Elrohir typically spent days in conflict isolated, without a word or so much as a glance shared.   It tended only to worsen problems, and had caused a great deal of frustration in Imladris when the twins were young.  Promising as the speech may have been, Elladan hadn't an idea of how to begin.  _You were rejected, brother mine, and thus you ran, and run, and your heart cracks under the stress.  How are you feeling?  _The elder twin scoffed at the thought, and held out a small bag.  "Are you hungry?"

            Elrohir turned slowly, leveling his bloodshot eyes on those of his brother.  The sorrow therefound hit Elladan like a fist in the gut.  The bag dropped to the ground unnoticed, and Elrohir found himself gathered in his brother's arms.  Tucking his face into Elladan's shoulder, he closed his eyes tightly and took a shaky breath.  "I knew you'd come."

            Elladan chuckled softly.  "Just as I always have...  I am your elder brother, Elrohir, and hardly would be doing my job if I left you alone to stew."

            With a snort, Elrohir disentangled himself from the hug.  "To stew?"  Elladan smiled meekly, silently chiding himself for the poor choice of words.  Keeping his mouth wisely shut, he awaited a reaction.  After staring his twin down, Elrohir laughed softly.  "I suppose you are right.  The hurt in my heart was unbearable, and these dear trees have suffered as outlet...  And when all tears were spent, and my knuckles ground bare, I had naught to do but sit.  Sit, and think."

            "And have you come to any conclusions?" prompted Elladan gently, as the twins settled into lounged seats on the crab-grassed ground.  Elrohir simply shrugged.

            "None with legs strong enough."

            Elladan blinked, but slowly understood.  It was always that way with the twins, no matter how vague one's reference was, how obscure and disjointed a shared thought might be, the other always came to understand.  "In time," he began, "you will stand before Legolas...  Your legs will recover themselves, and stand strong beneath you.  They will grow to support your heavy heart, and then with muscles massed you will be light-hearted once more..."

            "And until then?"

            "Until then, my feet are planted next to yours."

            Elrohir smiled.  "Right where you always are.  Sometimes I wonder what I would do without you, Elladan."

            "So do I, Elrohir," grinned the Elf, "So do I."

            Smacking his elder brother playfully on the shoulder, Elrohir rolled his smoky, hazel eyes and the pair settled down to a small meal.  Speaking around a mouthful of lembas, the younger (but slightly taller) twin offered his brother several of the berries he had found.  "I should not have left in such haste.  I came with nothing but the clothes I am wearing, and the friendship and listening ears of Arlad…"

            Elladan turned to smile at the horse, who was grazing patiently several yards away with his own Nilithil.  "I was worried about you," he said quietly, "almost frightened of what I would find."

            "I'm sorry," said Elrohir, staring up at the sky and blinking back tears.  Hoping to change the subject, he pointed skyward with a slender finger.  "Look at the dark clouds!  They have rolled in unseen, and now we will be caught in the rain."

            "I rather like the rain," said Elladan thoughtfully, "but not when I can't escape it.  Where shall we go?"

            Elrohir thought on this long and hard, and by the time he re-met Elladan's gaze the first drops of rain had begun to fall.  He rose slowly to his feet, smoothing down his tunic, and moved to Arlad.  "I do not wish to return so soon," he admitted, "but if you do, then so be it. I will return to Minas Tirith, and test Adar's council for comfort."

            Nodding, Elladan rose to his considerable height.  "Then take my pack, I did not think to bring yours.  You will need sleeping things and some food, and I will likely catch up to the others by morning.  Be safe, 'Ro," he said, patting his brother on the shoulder fondly.  "I will see you in some months time, when we return from Mirkwood."

            "If not before," said Elrohir, and he put on his bravest smile.  

            "If not before," agreed Elladan, and with a smile of his own, they parted ways and the storm began to, truly, storm.  The night was growing.    

***

            "It's no use, Mister Frodo!"

            Frodo sighed heavily, and rose from his crouch to frown at the gardener.  "No, Sam?"

            "It's no good at all.  We'll never find the trail in this dark!"  It broke his heart to wait till morning, but for all the world Samwise Gamgee could think of no alternative.  It still stormed, and all moonlight was swallowed by the clouds well before it reached the treetops.  The canopy above their heads would allow for little light at the best of times, but now it was only by Sam's small torch they kept moving.  "The torch is burned to a nub, and I reckon we'll miss a good many clues if we try to pick our way in the dark!"

            "But, Sam…  We already trail Legolas by many miles!  How can we expect to catch up if _they_ haven't taken rest tonight?"  The Ringbearer's voice was strained, and he ran small hands through his tangled hair.  Merry and Pippin, who still sat upon their ponies, shared what they could of a glance in the night.  Pippin, at last, in a voice that was too hollow for so boisterous a Hobbit, spoke.

            "You're right, Frodo," and for a brief second he paused, and Frodo smiled weakly at his cousin's apparent approval.  "But so is Sam.  I doubt they—"

            "Whoever _they_ are," interrupted Merry dejectedly.  

            Pippin silenced him with a glare in the faint torchlight, and continued.  "I doubt they will rest long tonight, but we will have to rest eventually, and then they will regain their lead.  I wonder what good four Hobbits will be anyway, when they have managed to snare our Elf!"  

            "Oi, we know that…  No use clobbering our spirits, Pippin.  We've always got hope…" Merry barely whispered, eyes downcast.  Frodo put a thin arm round the taller Hobbit's shoulders, though he had to stand on the tips of his hairy toes to do it.  

            "Always hope, Merry, I won't deny that!  And one thing I do know, is that if we keep on tonight and wind up in dawn's first light completely off our trail, then we'll be in a right fix.  Time lost, and mayhap the trail for good.  If we sleep, we can take up the path easy in the morning, and follow it to its end.  If they wanted to kill Legolas," he said, logically, "they wouldn't have bothered 'napping him, would they?"

            Sam smiled and his eyes crinkled.  "There's hope, and no mistake!"

            The Ringbearer wrapped his arms around his young cousin, and marveled.  "When did you grow up so, Pippin?  It's hardly fitting for such a 'fool of a Took' to be so wise!"

            The tiny flame of their torch sputtered and went out, blanketing the foursome in complete darkness.  Thankfully, no one saw Pippin's blush at his cousin's kind words.  "Well, I _am_ a soldier of Gondor…"

            "That you are!" cried Frodo, and with spirits somewhat lightened they settled down to sleep.

***

            "Well, what a surprise!  I must admit, I hadn't been expecting to see you again so soon!"  Elladan grinned down at the waterlogged figure, and began to pick his way down the cliffside.  Nilithil snorted her annoyance at being left behind, but the Elf whistled a cheery note and the horse made her way off to graze.  "Are you hurt badly, my friend?"

            "No," came the eventual reply, and the man, whose booted foot was pinned between the cliffside and a tree-trunk of massive girth, seemed nearly to weep with relief.  "Can you free me?  I have been here all night!"

            Elladan blinked in surprise, but moved quickly to assess the injured foot and it's confines.  Noting the lack of blood spilled, he smiled.  "You should be fine, once I get you free.  Where is Gandalf?  This is not the path you took upon leaving us in Ithilien!  What brings you to Rohan?"

            "Mithrandir and I were separated," said Hannor at once, and almost too quickly.  "By most-foul Wargs, and Legolas' horse sped me away bravely, but fell in the end.  I tried in vain to find my way back to the Wizard's side, but tripped in the dark and have been, as I told you, trapped here for the night." 

            "Less than cozy, perhaps, though to an Elf it is a beautiful place.  Frustration and discomfort may cloud your vision, Hannor, but you have rather good taste.  This gully is handsome indeed, a perfect site for camp.  Brace yourself, friend, and I will pull your foot loose."

            _Hoom, hoom.  _There came a rumbling touch-close, and it startled both Hannor and Elladan out of their wits.  "Do not be hasty, young Elf, in undoing my work.  _Hoom, hoom_.  He is stuck here so that I might sit, and think, and ponder, and deliberate, and mull and muse, and…"

            Elladan gaped.  "An Ent!  What on Middle-earth are you doing so far south, old friend?"

            "Be not so hasty to ask questions of me, young Elf, we have not been properly introduced!   As my name in Old Entish would outdo your patience, you may call me Taproot."  The Ent bent its trunk slightly to bow, and blinked his huge amber eyes.  After a particularly hearty '_hoom_', he looked down to the awed Elladan expectantly.  

            The Elf bowed low. "I am Elladan, son of Lord Elrond of Imladris..." 

            "_Hoom_, Elrond's son!  _Hoom, hoom_!" cried Taproot, if an Ent was ever so hasty.  "It is a pleasure to meet you, young Elladan.  It has been many, many years since your father traveled ever and anon through Fangorn Forest, but I will not soon forget him, nor Celebrían his wife."

            Elladan smiled, "The pleasure is mine, Taproot of harsh bark and deepest greens!"  The compliment seemed to please the old Ent, so he continued somewhat, well… hastily.  "Pray tell, what _are_ you doing south even of the Entwash?"

            Taproot '_hoom_'ed a great deal, though it was softer than before, and when Elladan began to wonder if he would get an answer, the rich voice sounded.  "Searching, _hoom_.  You have not seen the Entwives, in your travels?  _Hoom, hoom_."

            Sympathy clouded Elladan's eyes at once, "Nay, I am sorry…  But do not lose faith, for I was not looking.  How came you upon Hannor, my new friend?"

            "So many questions," said Taproot.  "Choose your friends _wisely_," the word was hopelessly drawn out, and Elladan resisted the urge to squirm impatiently.  "This one, _hoom_, is full of rot and worm-holes."

            Elladan raised an eyebrow, and looked down at Hannor.  The messenger looked weary to be sure, and was certainly in need of a bath, but it was his eyes that gave him away.  There was a hard look to them, and guilt warred with anger in their depths.  Elladan's face hardened.  "Ah, Hannor.  What have you to say for yourself?"

            Grimacing as he tried to pull his foot from his trapped boot, the messenger said nothing, but did not break Elladan's stony gaze.  After a tense silence, his resolve cracked,  "The Tree-shepherd knows nothing."

            "It would be rather _hasty_," began Elladan, "of an Ent to trap a Man without reason."

            "_Hoom_, his horse reared and pitched him to my roots," said Taproot.  "The beast was of Elven-care and knew very well his rider was rotten.  _Hoom, hoom_.  He was after a party of particularly hasty Hobbits, _hoom_."

            Elladan's eyes narrowed further, and he stepped away from the Man.  Hannor screamed suddenly in fury and tore at the sparse grass with white-knuckled fists.  "Do not listen to this ancient weed!  What would you do, Elladan son of Elrond, leave me to starve and turn to dust?!"

            _Hoom, hoom._  Taproot leaned into Hannor's leg and the man cried out in pain.  "Goodness," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "How _hasty_ I have become!"

            The Elf beamed up at Taproot, who seemed oddly pleased with himself.  Taproot, Elladan decided, must be a young, rather _hasty_ Ent, comparatively speaking of course.  Putting two fingers to his lips, he blew two sharp and distinctly different whistles.  After a moment, Nilithil appeared at the top of the cliff, with, lo and behold, another horse at her side.  Coat a shimmering gold, even in the dark, it was unmistakably Legolas' 'fallen' horse Lhuniâ.  It was all Elladan needed to see.  "I have no means to keep a prisoner, Taproot, nor any desire to set this liar free.  What wise council can you spare me?"

            Taproot hoomed thoughtfully, and then it seemed to Elladan that he got rather a nasty glint in his eye, as if he had spotted an axe-wielding Dwarf nearby.  "I will keep him.  Return soon and pay me visit in Fangorn, son of Elrond Peredhil, you are most welcome."

            "My thanks," said Elladan, "I will keep sharp my Elven-eyes for any sign of the Entwives."

            Taproot rumbled gratefully, and Elladan scaled the cliff easily and lead the horses to the trail.

***           

            Slowly and seemingly one-by-one his senses returned to him, and he gasped desperately for a breath of air, but little came.  Coarse, thick fabric rubbed his face where it rested, crude and tightly-wrapped enough to limit his air supply but not render him unconscious.  A blessing or a curse, with the fog on his mind he couldn't be sure.  He was on horseback—no, slung over the shoulders of a massive and fast-moving stranger…

            A foul reek greeted his bloodied nose, acrid and nearly tangibly so.  Impossibly strong ropes cut into his wrists, and all feeling in his feet was lost—undoubtedly thanks to further bindings.  His head pounded mercilessly, but all hurts were overruled by the agony in his shoulder.  The arrow still penetrated his body, and his tunic and jerkin were soaked in blood for it, sticky and crimson-stained.  The head itself was near its exit, but it was unlikely to say the least that anyone here would help…  As it was, the wound was attempting to heal around the intruding body, and every move caused agonizing tearing of the damaged tissue.  It was fitting, of course, that his ride strode with a great bounce in _every _step.  He wouldn't have expected any less.

            Counting his captor's strides to focus his mind, Legolas was reminded at once of the party of Hobbits he had left behind.  Had anything happened to them?  Perhaps they were right at his side, gagged and bound… Suffering.  Perhaps they were already dead.  The thought chilled him to the core, as the cheeky, round faces of Merry and Pippin appeared in his mind's eye.  There were steadfast Sam and sweet, tortured Frodo.  The Hobbits were depending on him, and he would not let them down.  Not so long as he drew breath.

            As he sank slowly into unconsciousness, the face of King Elessar sprung unbidden to mind.  _Aragorn,_ Legolas thought sadly, as the darkness began to win over, _My Estel.  Mellonamin, melamin.  My Estel…_

***

Okay, that took entirely too long.  I'm sorry!  I have lots of excuses, but I won't list them.  I'll just say that I've been freakishly busy lately, and admittedly, generally uninspired.  The reviews are still awesome, especially from those of you (you know who you are) who took the time to write me big ones…  I love you for it.  Honestly!  I'm tempted to do the whole personalized thank-you thing, but as I haven't at all so far, it'd be a lot of catching up, considering I've got 90 reviews right now.  I've still got a little catching up to do with the 'review-for-a-review' deal, but I'm working on it.  It's a lot of reading.  So, for this chapter:  I hope you guys don't mind my Ent too much, or my shoddy treatment of Legolas.  At least I didn't kill him off, hmm?  :D  Next chapter should be a lovely and action-packed…  Whenever it makes it's appearance…  Hehe.        

***


End file.
